


When the Stars Would Fall

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Author Wants Cookies, Awkward Romance, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Gay Panic, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Incomplete, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nightmares, Oblivious Draco Malfoy, Oblivious Harry Potter, Please Send Author Cookies, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, The Author Regrets Nothing, Triggers, awkward everything really, very angsty actually
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:28:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 30,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24913126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: SLOW BUILDUP DRARRY 8TH YEAR AUThey aim to escape the ghosts of their past, but they won’t be able to escape each other. In fact, how strange would it be if they fell in love? Not strange at all, apparently. But fate won’t let them go that easily.I WILL ATTEMPT TO UPDATE EVERY OTHER WEEKEND, BUT NO PROMISES DUE TO SCHOOL :)
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 55
Kudos: 157





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic I have posted online, and I hope that you guys enjoy it!
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcome and appreciated!

Draco Malfoy had to choose between many things, but two things he thought he would never have to choose between were nightmares and being awake during the night.

There had always been supplies for Dreamless Draught in the labs on the ground level floor, but since Malfoy Manor had been ransacked during the war and Draco hadn’t had the energy to get new ingredients, being awake it was. On top of that, the manor had always been quiet, but since both of his parents were... _away,_ the silence had a strange, almost eerie effect. Draco shut his eyes tight, straining his ears for any sound besides his own labored breathing.

None.

It almost made him wish he had someone next to him. He smiled bitterly. As if anyone could ever _love_ former Death Eater Draco Malfoy. His parents’ marriage hadn’t been formed out of _love;_ it had been formed out of convenience and a lust for power. Draco would never find someone to _love,_ someone that would love him.

He rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the polished wooden floor softly. “Eli?” he called softly. 

A house elf winked in front of him, bowing low. “What can Eli do for Master, sirs?”

“Could you get me a cup of chamomile tea?” Draco asked. “With extra honey?”

“Of course, Master,” Eli said, bowing once again and winking away.

Draco walked into the sitting room, and with a flick of his wand, flames began to flicker and dance on the firewood. He sighed, blowing a pale blonde strand of hair out of his eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, he was lost.

Lost, because his whole world before all that had happened was his service to the Dark Lord. Oh, how he had longed to be free of that burden! Now, he was free, and he didn’t know what to do.

Lost, because his parents were away. Both were in Azkaban, but his mother had been exonerated from some crimes since she had aided Potter by lying to the Dark Lord. She would be home in 6 months. Still, it was _6 months._

Lost, because amidst all that happened, he was still a boy. A boy that had to step into the shoes of a man too early. He missed the mahogany Hogwarts walls, missed the lessons and the books and the homework, missed the buzz of students in the Great Hall during meal hours. So he was going back. He was going back to the only thing that stood steady during this whole mess of things.

Eli winked in with his tea. “Would Master like Eli to do anything else?”

“No, but thanks,” Draco muttered, reaching forward for the tea and sipping it slowly.

He had already bought himself new robes and books with Pansy, Daphne, and Theo the other day. Draco and Theo had been somewhat close before the war, but they now talked daily since Theo was faced with a similar situation to Draco's. His mother had died when Theo was young, and his father, a Death Eater, was in Azkaban. Plus, Pansy and Theo were dating, and Draco wanted to make sure that his closest friend wasn’t with a bad bloke. Of course, that had left Daphne and Draco awkwardly third-wheeling the entire trip, but Draco didn’t mind. Daphne wasn’t interested in him, and he wasn’t interested in her. His mind idly lingered on a conversation he and Daphne had shared earlier.

“Do you know anyone in our year that’s heading back to Hogwarts?” Draco had asked.

Daphne shrugged. “You three, and I heard through the grapevine that Potter, Granger, and Longbottom are going back.”

Draco choked on his Butterbeer. “ _Potter and Granger?”_

“I know, right?” Daphne rolled her eyes. “Thought Potter would’ve jumped right into Auror training with Weasley; I reckon that’s where Weasley’s going. Granger was supposed to go under Shacklebolt’s wing so she could become Minister of Magic.”

Draco frowned now. It was odd that two out of three of the Golden Trio was going back. And this was supposed to be a relaxing year. He smiled thinly. Without his father breathing over his shoulder, he was bound to get better marks than Granger this year. He drained the rest of his cup and left it on a table nearby. Tomorrow, he had to be at King’s Cross Station by 10:30, or was it today? What time was it? It didn’t matter. He had to be up early to meet Pansy, Theo, and Daphne.

He slipped back into the covers, hoping that maybe whatever god was up there would take mercy on him and give him a dreamless sleep.

* * * * *

The flurry of movement and the trains sliding in and out of King’s Cross Station annoyed him to no end. Usually, he only got super ticked off past noon, but after a particularly violent nightmare, everything seemed to be bent on bothering him. Pansy and Theo forged on ahead of Daphne and Draco, the two bantering playfully.

A flash of red hair caught his eye, and he almost groaned aloud. It was the Weaselette, Granger, Luna, and Potter. Harry bloody Potter. Potter seemed to do a double take as well, eyes widening as he took in Draco, before nodding almost politely before he and Granger casually fell through the wall.

Daphne nudged Draco. “You ready?” she asked. Pansy and Theo had already disappeared, and he nodded, pushing his cart alongside Daphne and stepping onto Platform 9¾. They made their way past screaming children, proud fathers, and mothers frantically making sure that their children had everything they needed.

“Draco! Daphne! Get your arses over here right this second!” Pansy yelled from an open window. “I got us a compartment.”

Draco got on the train first and turned back to give Daphne a hand. She smiled faintly before squeezing past him and leaving him hanging. He rolled his eyes. _Girls._ He turned around, coming face to face with the Weaselette and Potter. 

_Ah, so they’re still together._ He fought to maintain a neutral expression, and Potter did so as well. The Weaselette, however, drew her wand, eyes fiery. “Malfoy,” she spat.

“Nice to see you too,” he retorted. “If you’ll excuse me.” He tried to move past her, but she blocked his path, her wand trained on his chin. “What-”

“Just because you were cleared of all charges doesn’t mean that you’re a good bloke,” she snapped. “If I had known you were coming back, I wouldn’t have come back myself. Stay away from me, Harry, Luna, and ‘Mione. You’re not ruining our last year here.”

“Ginny!” Potter exclaimed, _fucking_ exclaimed. Couldn’t the “Chosen One” get any more cliché? “That was uncalled for. Come on.” He pushed Ginny past Draco but offered no apology to his enemy. And Draco was fine with that - he didn’t deserve one. 

He wandered past empty compartments until he found Pansy’s. “What took you so long?” Pansy asked. “Daphne almost threw up because of Theo.”

“I’m double-jointed and bent my thumb backwards,” Theo explained, shrugging.

“It’s creepy and disgusting,” Daphne whimpered, white as a sheet. Theo smirked, doing it again, and she squealed. “Stop it, Theo!”

“I personally think it’s uniquely cute,” Pansy said, kissing Theo’s nose.

“So it’s come in handy during sex, then, hasn’t it?” Draco deadpanned. Pansy gasped before swatting at him, and Draco held up his hands to block hers, grinning. This was as close as normal as he was going to get - surrounded by his remaining friends, laughing and making crude jokes. As the train sped away from the station, he relaxed in his seat, settling in for the long road ahead. It was going to be a year of healing.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those who commented for your encouraging comments :3
> 
> creamsodaplease, I enjoy writing Draco's POV as well; this story will be switching between Harry and Draco's POVs because it's nice to see different perspectives.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. If you're into musicals, especially Dear Evan Hansen, my friend has written an Evan Hansen x Reader fic and is now working on Musicals x Reader one-shots on Wattpad. This is her profile - make sure to tell her I sent you XD: https://www.wattpad.com/user/luv_the_cr0ncH

Harry Potter had to choose between many things, but two things he thought he would never have to choose between were Ron and Hermione. After all, they were the Golden _Trio_ , weren’t they? 

However, things weren't that simple. hen Harry had announced a week ago that he would be returning to Hogwarts with Hermione, Ron had almost fallen out of his chair. The three were seated around the Weasleys' kitchen table, and Hermione rushed to help him. Ron sat up slowly. “You’re...but I thought we were going to Auror training together?” His red-headed friend sounded hurt, and Harry didn’t blame him. They  _ did  _ have Auror training plans, but Harry’s nightmares had gotten worse. He’d had to up his dose of Dreamless Draught three times in the past two weeks. Ron and Hermione didn’t know -  _ couldn’t  _ know, really, because the war was over. Harry had already shoved a huge burden on their lives by just existing. They deserved to live without his presence. And the only way to do that would be to go to Hogwarts, keep his head down, and brush up on the stuff he missed while on the run.

Plus, he wasn’t amazing at Potions or Transfiguration, which were crucial parts of Auror training. He explained that bit to Ron, who rolled his eyes. “You’re Harry fucking Potter; you defeated You-Know-Who! No one’s going to care if you’re not wonderful at Potions.”

Hermione, however, was beaming. “Oh, I’m so glad, Harry! It’ll be wonderful to have a friend there.”

“You’re going to have Ginny and Luna already; you don’t give a damn about whether I have a friend at Auror training, do you?” Ron sniped good-naturedly.

“You’re better than I am at making friends, Ronald, and you know it,” Hermione replied shortly. An awkward silence ensued before she turned to Harry. “You’ll even get to spend time with Ginny!” she added, smiling mischievously.

“Er, yes, I will.” Harry scratched the back of his head. He wasn’t interested in Ginny like that anymore. He hadn’t been for a while, ever since he had figured out a...recent development. “Ginny will have Luna though–”

“Let him be,” Ron muttered. “He’ll be fine.”

Harry nodded stiffly. He had thought he was doing the right thing by going to Hogwarts, but he was regretting his decision already. It had driven a wedge between not just his two best friends, but a couple. “I’ll start packing now,” he declared, pushing his chair backwards and climbing the stairs to the room he shared with Ron.

Now, as Ginny and Hermione started up a game of Exploding Snap, Luna turned to Harry. “There’s a lot on your mind,” she stated simply.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, shying away from Luna’s bright gaze.

Luna seemed to sense his reluctance to speak, and she shifted away from him. “She’s really pretty, isn’t she?”

Harry chuckled nervously. “Who? Hermione? Yeah.”

“Ginevra, actually,” Luna mumbled, a faint blush spreading across her pale cheeks. She looked up at him. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, uh, of course not,” Harry replied. He felt his palms start to sweat as Luna moved closer to him. “Luna, what are you doing?”

Luna’s breath tickled his ear. “It’s okay to be gay, Harry. We’re your friends, and we love you no matter what,” she whispered, sliding back into her seat.

“I’m not...that’s not…” he stammered, suddenly aware that Hermione and Ginny had stopped their game. Luna only smiled knowingly.

“Harry, you good?” Ginny asked.

“Yeah,” he forced out. “Yeah, I am.”

“You think Gryffindor’s going to win the House Cup this year?” Hermione asked. “I don’t know if Harry’s allowed to play, given the 8th year rules and all…” She glanced at Harry pointedly.

Harry ignored her, lost in his own thoughts. Luna was right, of course. Ravenclaws weren’t in the house of wit for nothing. He inwardly sighed. Being gay really  _ shouldn’t  _ be a big deal. The wizarding community had come a long way in acceptance, but he still felt that pressure to be Gryffindor’s Golden Boy. That first kiss with Cho Chang had led his mind astray with worries - not only because she had been crying, but because there had been...nothing. Sure, Harry thought she was pretty, but wasn’t snogging about feeling chemistry? At least, that’s what Ron had told him…

He really did think Ginny would set him straight (pun definitely intended). She and Harry were perfectly matched, everyone seemed to think. Everyone except Harry. After their first kiss in the common room, Harry felt like he was walking amongst the clouds. There was that nagging voice, of course, that his high was only caused by the big win from the Quidditch match. That voice became more prominent after a few rough snogs before matches and stolen kisses between classes. Harry loved her, but he couldn’t love her the way she wanted him to. The voice had all but disappeared when they had broken up with little drama, where it returned with full force. The first emotion Harry had felt when Ginny broke it off with him was  _ relief.  _ You don’t feel bloody  _ relieved  _ when your girlfriend breaks up with you.

“What’s on your mind, Harry?” Ginny poked his nose. “You seem really out of it. We were talking about Quidditch and you just stared out the window.” She and Hermione looked concerned.

“Harry has something to tell you,” Luna announced. 

Harry shot her a dirty, panicked glance. This was too soon; he didn’t even have his own thoughts organized. “Luna-”

“Go on, Harry,” she insisted. Her soft hand slipped into his.

Hermione’s eyes shot open wide. “Are...are you two…” She stared at their joined hands.

Ginny looked pissed. “What? How…I…”

“No, oh no, we’re not-” Harry stammered. “No-”

“Then spit it out,” Ginny snapped. The fiery witch was clearly upset for some reason. She sighed, tone softening. “You can tell us anything, Harry. We’ll be here for you.”

“Well, um.” Harry swallowed nervously. His palms were slick with sweat. “I. Think. I’m. Gay.”

A short silence fell over the four, but Hermione soon got up and hugged her best friend. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered. “I love you. No matter what.”

Ginny was silent. “If you’re gay, did dating me mean anything?” she asked softly, her voice cracking.

“Ginny, it meant loads. I just...I...I didn’t know,” he finished lamely. He tried to meet her eyes, but she looked away. “I was figuring myself out and...and I...I’m so glad I got to date you, honestly. You’re brilliant and beautiful and any guy that you’ll end up with will be lucky to have you,” he added. Hermione shot him an approving glance.

Ginny nodded, more to herself than anything. “Yeah. Thank you, Harry,” she mumbled. “For trusting me. That means a lot.” She took a deep breath. “So, do you think McGonagall’s going to let you play?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t put it past her,” Harry remarked wryly. His heart soared - he knew that everything would be okay with his friends. He shot a quick glance at Luna. “Sorry, but I think Gryffindor’s going to win this year. Again.” 

Luna shrugged. “That’s okay. I’m not really into Quidditch.”

“You made that brilliant lion hat, didn’t you?” Ginny questioned. “In fifth year?” When Luna nodded, Ginny smiled. “That was amazing, Luna.”

The train slid to a stop, much to the group’s dismay. “And we haven’t even changed into robes yet,” Hermione groaned. “That takes  _ forever.” _

Ginny grinned. “Honestly, ‘Mione, you underestimate me sometimes.” With a quick flick of her wand, four robes flew out of the suitcases and onto their owners. At Hermione’s surprised glance, Ginny shrugged. “It’s a handy bit I picked up from a book somewhere.”

Harry wasn’t really listening to the lot of them. He felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his chest. He had told the three witches, and they had accepted him for who he was. Ron hopefully would as well. Maybe even one day, wizards like Malfoy would accept Harry too.  _ Right,  _ he thought, snorting.  _ As if Malfoy wouldn’t pass up a chance to make fun of me if he knew I’m gay. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry if the small updates I've been making to Chapter 1 alert you if you're subscribed - not quite sure how this works yet. Someone please let me down below so I know if I should only update it all at once. Thanks!
> 
> Constructive criticism is very welcome!


	3. Chapter 3

“Ugh, look at this.” Pansy glanced down at her schedule in disgust, pushing away her unfinished breakfast. “Double Charms with the Ravenclaws, then double Potions with the Gryffindors-”

“Slughorn’s going to be  _ insufferable,”  _ Theo grumbled. “With Granger and Potter in that class-”

Draco laughed bitterly, setting his tea down on the table. He had gotten Dreamless Draught from Madam Pomfrey as soon as he had gotten to school, but the tea did help - not with sleep or anything, but he still enjoyed it. “ _ Potter?  _ I’m more worried about the Weaselette.” Her scorching glare was enough to make anyone back off. He was surprised Potter was still with her, or that she had  _ any  _ friends, really.

Daphne, to his surprise, shot him a glare. “It’s Ginevra, Draco,” she replied testily.

“Oh, since when did you two get onto first name terms?” he asked, slinging his book bag over his shoulder. 

“Since I realized that house lines don’t matter as much as we made them out to be, and maybe we should all get along,” Daphne snapped.

“Next thing we know, you’ll be moving to Hufflepuff,” Pansy muttered. 

Daphne ignored her, swinging her leg over the bench and storming away. “There’s more important things,” she called over her shoulder. “Like friendship, and bravery.”

“And me,” Pansy cooed, nuzzling Theo’s neck. Theo grinned as the nuzzling turned into snogging. 

Draco took that as his cue to hurry after Daphne.

* * * * *

Daphne was still fuming when they met up for Charms, and when Draco successfully made his pineapple tap-dance and she didn’t, he received a particularly nasty Scorching Hex. Of course, she denied everything, but she slammed open Slughorn’s door with a force that made the ancient door shudder dangerously as its hinges squeaked and trembled. Slughorn looked up, startled, and attempted for a grin. “Ah, Ms. Greengrass, good to see you! And you as well, Mr. Malfoy!”

Slughorn meant no such thing. The fear was still there, from the careful way he waddled around the desks to the way his gaze kept flicking back to Draco as if the 8th year was prone to sudden movements. Once, Draco had been proud of it. Now, it haunted him. He kept his head high as only a few more students filed into the classroom, their eyes trained on him. He doubted that their stares and mutterings would ever go away. He was the only one who had crossed to the Dark Lord’s side at the Battle of Hogwarts - however unwillingly he crossed, he still did.

However, their gazes soon switched to a certain dark-haired, green-eyed _sensation_ that slid into the classroom and his curly-haired friend. Potter and Granger seemed to shrink from the excited glances and whispers as they found a quiet corner to await Slughorn’s instructions.

When the bell rang, Slughorn smiled jovially. “Good morning, all! Welcome to N.E.W.T-level Potions. You all know that this class is only for the elite, and you have made it! Congratulations!

“As it’s your first day back and all, we’ll start off easy but not too easy! Today, you are to brew a Hiccoughing Solution, not on your own, but in pairs.” As quiet murmurs broke out, Slughorn continued. “I’ve chosen your partners for you-” He gestured to the board, where names were listed in pairs. “-based on ranks from your 6th year. You have the rest of the period to work on your potion - go!”

Draco spotted his name next to - his heart sank - Weasley’s. She shot him a glare as they moved to a cauldron up front. “Oh, believe me, I’m about as happy about this as you are,” he muttered. “Go grab the ingredients and I’ll heat up the cauldron and get the tools.”

“You don’t get to shove me around, Malfoy,” she snapped. “Get the ingredients.”

“Listen up, Weaselette,” he retorted, voice low. Ignoring the furious glance Daphne threw him from Longbottom’s side, he went on. “Yes, I did make a mistake, and I know it's unforgivable, but I’m trying to fix it and grow up.”

“That's not even what I'm talking about. It's too late to fix your mistakes, anyways.” She was scowling now. “It wasn’t just a  _ mistake  _ you made. You fucked up beyond measure. Your ‘mistakes’ nearly cost Harry his life multiple times-”

“Ginny, I-” And now  _ goddamn Potter  _ was here _ ,  _ trying to be a vomit-worthy brand of noble. His eyes met Draco’s for a second before they met the youngest Weasley’s. Was that... _ pity _ Draco saw? “Ginny, just work with him.”

“I don’t need your  _ pity,  _ Potter,” Draco spat. “Fuck off. I’ll make the potion myself if your girlfriend can’t help me.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that,” the Weaselette hissed, reaching for her wand.

“Is there something going on?” Slughorn bustled over, beaming, unaware of the tension. “Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott looks like he’s in need of some assistance.” Potter ran off, a small sigh escaping as he took in the mess Theo had made. The Weaselette gave him a scathing glare and stormed off towards the ingredients cabinet. Slughorn cast Draco a questioning glance - still a bit fearful, Draco noted - and he shrugged in response, pulling out his wand and sending a jet of bluebell flames to the bottom of the cauldron.

The Weaselette eventually came back, arms full of ingredients, and she slammed each one on the table. Draco watched, amused, as she huffed about and threw ingredients in the cauldron. “Careful,” he purred as she stirred in some roots so quickly that potion splashed outside the cauldron and sizzled on the stone floor. 

“Then why don’t you do it?” she snapped, throwing the roots down and raising her hand. “Professor, I need to go use the lavatory - it’s an emergency.”

Potter shot Draco an annoyed glance, and Draco gave one right back. It’s really not _his_ fault the Weaselette’s a bitch. He finished chopping the remainder of the roots and stirred twice clockwise. His potion turned a pale shade of amber, as it should, and he smirked. Potter’s potion was giving off noxious fumes, and Granger had the bad luck to be paired with one of the 7th year runts who had somehow gotten into the N.E.W.T-level but had no idea what they were doing. 

Slughorn passed by Draco’s cauldron. “Wonderful, wonderful, Mr. Malfoy!” he praised.

“Slughorn’s only saying that because he doesn’t want to be cursed,” one of the 7th years whispered loudly. "Malfoy's dangerous, Anna, stay away from him-"

“Now, now, Ms. Paisley,” Slughorn chided. “That’s not very nice...”

Draco didn’t pick up on the rest of the conversation. His thoughts drifted to nights roaming Malfoy Manor, then to the cursed necklace Katie Bell had received, to Dumbledore falling off the Astronomy Tower as he stood there, shaking helplessly-

_ “Severus...please…” _

_ Snape raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore. _

“Avada Kedavra!”

_ A jet of green light shot from the end of Snape’s wan and hit Dumbledore squarely in the chest. For a split second, he seemed to hang suspended beneath the shining skull, and then he fell slowly backward, like a great rag doll, over the battlements and out of sight. _

_ “Out of here, quickly,” Snape barked, seizing Draco by the scruff of the neck and forcing him through the door ahead of the rest. Draco was numb with a mixture of shock and terror - Snape did make the Unbreakable Vow to protect him, but that didn’t have to mean killing Dumbledore, did it? Draco had never really liked Dumbledore, since Dumbledore always favored Potter and the Gryffindors, but he hadn’t hated him either. _

_ “We did it, Snape! Dumbledore’s dead!” Amycus was panting excitedly. “Oh, the Dark Lord’s going to be ecstatic-” _

_ “Keep your voice down, Amycus,” Snape muttered as they moved through the dark. “Protego Maxima!” Spells ricocheted off their shield harmlessly, but Draco would never forget the screams that filled his ears- _

“Malfoy? Malfoy!” Someone was shaking him. “Did you faint?”

Draco opened his eyes slowly. Saint Potter was kneeling over him, shaking his robes. “Get our hands off me,” he snapped.

“Look,” Potter muttered. “I’m really sorry about Ginny-”

“I don’t need your goddamn apology,” Draco growled. “Just leave me alone - that would be good.”

“Mr. Malfoy, are you okay?” An alarmed Slughorn waddled to Draco’s cauldron, vanishing its contents as the potion began to overflow. “There, there, you can always come in and make up - Potter, why don’t you take him to the hospital wing?”

“Thank you, Professor, but I’m just fine,” Draco replied, gritting his teeth in annoyance. The bell rang just then, saving him from the Weaselette’s wrath if she had ever come back. He slung his bag over his shoulder, sighing as Daphne caught up to him. “Not now, Daphne.”

“Malfoy, has it been getting worse?” she asked quietly.

He looked at her wide, anxious gaze, and gave a small nod. “Nothing a small dose of Dreamless and a bit of Pepper-Up can’t solve-”

“You can’t depend on potions forever!” she hissed. “You should go up to Madam Pomfrey and see if there’s anything healers can do to help with...your history.”

“My history is a part of me,” he hissed back. “Everyone has to live with theirs - I’ll do just fine.  _ Venomous Tentacula,”  _ he added as they approached the common room door. It swung open, and Draco bounded down the stairs. “I’ll meet you in the Great Hall soon.” He ran to the dorm he shared with Nott and other 7th year boys, heading straight for the showers. A small, choking sob escaped him and he began to cry in earnest as the water slid down his body. It was too late now - the water would be able to cleanse his skin, and it would be able to help him put up a brave front, but it wouldn’t do a thing to the memories he so desperately wanted to forget.


	4. Chapter 4

“The fuck, Harry?” Ginny hissed as she caught up to him and Hermione in the halls. “Why were you defending him? And taking care of him? And asking to see if he was okay?”

“What do you mean? He was lying on the ground, someone said something, and he wasn’t okay-” Harry stopped, remembering how he and Malfoy had been in a similar situation except they were in a flooded bathroom, and Malfoy was bleeding to death…

“He doesn’t deserve your pity. Don’t forget what he did under You-Know-Who,” Ginny spat, veering away when she saw Luna.

Harry immediately turned to where Hermione had been to argue his point, but she was gone. He had a fleeting memory of their 3rd year, when she would use the Time-Turner to get to extra classes, and smiled.  _ Probably off to owl Ron…  _

“Hey, Potter.  _ Harry. _ ” An unfamiliar voice stopped him at the entrance of the Great Hall, and he turned around to see a blonde girl in Slytherin attire with her hand out. She looked familiar, but he couldn’t quite place her. “I’m Daphne Greengrass, I don’t think we’ve met before.”

He took her hand and shook it gingerly, smiling. “Nice to meet you, Gr-Daphne.”

“I’d like to thank you for making sure Draco was okay today in Potions,” Daphne said. “He’s-” Her voice cut off, and she let out a small sigh before continuing. “He hasn’t been doing well, and any little thing helps, really. Especially since you two fought a lot back then.”

Harry blinked. Was this a prank? Surely a Slytherin that was Malfoy’s friend wouldn’t tell Harry Potter, out of all people, that Malfoy wasn’t doing well. “Er, thanks, I guess,” he said. “I-”

“Potter?” Malfoy came up from behind Daphne, glancing from his friend to his former enemy in confusion. His hair was tousled slightly, and his shirt was sticking to his damp body, showing off his alabaster chest. Harry had never seen Malfoy without perfectly gelled hair or orderly attire, and the sight of it unnerved him.

“Not a word,” Daphne growled, tossing her hair over her shoulder and marching off towards the Slytherin table, Malfoy shooting him a scathing yet still confused look before following her. Harry wandered towards the Gryffindor table and took a seat next to Neville. “Hey, Neville.”

“Hey, Harry,” Neville said, grinning. “Nice to see you.”

“Yeah, I heard you were having a nice time studying with Sprout for a Herbology N.E.W.T,” Harry mumbled, his thoughts drifting as Neville began to chatter about all the wonderful plants he was learning about with Professor Sprout. 

* * * * *

The rest of Harry’s first day passed in a blur. By 6, he was set up on his favorite squishy armchair in the common room, angrily scratching out the beginnings of an essay about Helga Hufflepuff’s influence on the founding of Hogwarts. Binns had requested 2 feet of parchment, and Harry was only at half a foot. Hermione was already on her fourth foot-long roll of parchment, and Harry glared at her tiny handwriting. Hermione saw him looking and snatched it away. “Harry, you  _ have  _ to do your own work,” she whispered. “How are you going to pass your N.E.W.T.s if you don’t?”

“Dunno.” Harry laid down his quill abruptly. “I’m going out to the Quidditch pitch.”

“It’s your first day back, you should be finishing your work so you don’t get behind,” Hermione fretted, but Harry had already stuffed the Invisibility Cloak in his jacket pocket. “ _ Harry-” _

“I’ll be fine, ‘Mione, really.” Harry tried for a grin, but his mind was elsewhere. He slipped to his dorm, shrunk his Firebolt, and went back downstairs, ignoring Hermione’s feeble attempts to get him back to work. He slipped past the portrait and threw on his cloak.

Without the minimal effort he was putting in his work to distract him, what Daphne had done earlier pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. Malfoy seemed to have real friends now, he reflected. It wasn’t like a Slytherin to reach out to people, especially people that were Gryffindors. Yet Daphne had done it, but why? Surely she didn’t think he  _ cared  _ about Malfoy. After all that had happened, he had  _ forgiven  _ the blond git, but he didn’t  _ care  _ for him.

He was so distracted by these thoughts that he didn’t notice a figure already zooming around the pitch with a Quaffle when he arrived. He tried to squint through his glasses, but the figure was too far away. Deciding it didn’t matter who it was, he kicked off from the ground, the wind whistling in his ears as he gained speed.

Something flew past his ear and he ducked instinctively. The Quaffle soared past his ear and into the highest hooped goal post. Harry turned to the figure, and was neither surprised nor pleased to see none other than Draco Malfoy. Malfoy had played Seeker when Harry was at Hogwarts, but Harry wasn’t surprised to see him playing Chaser. Malfoy had often boasted about learning how to fly before he was a 1st year, and probably chose to play Seeker to upset Harry. Harry snorted and shook his head. How childish.

“I reckon you would’ve been able to keep the Quaffle out unlike Weasley, eh?” Malfoy taunted as he swerved to catch the ball. “Born in a bin, and all that-”

“Have a go at Ron one more time and I’ll knock you off your broom,” Harry snapped. He had done absolutely  _ nothing  _ to provoke Malfoy. Hell, he was even  _ nice  _ to him during class today. And now, the arsehole had the bloody nerve to go at him like that? Yet for a moment, it almost felt like he and Malfoy were 1st years again, and Malfoy had stolen Neville’s Remembrall.

“I’d like to see you try,” the blond sneered, shrugging off his cloak and letting it fall. He was wearing the same shirt that he had worn at lunch, and it was sticking to his chest in the same way as it was before due to sweat. Harry swallowed nervously and watched as the cloak settled on the ground. “But I’ll be chivalrous and give you a landing pad, Potter, in case you fall off-” Harry shot forward, anger getting the better of him. Malfoy merely smirked and zoomed away, Harry taking off in pursuit. The two boys sped up and down and around the posts before Malfoy lazily tossed the Quaffle into a hoop. “10 points for Slytherin, and 0 for Gryffindor.”

He started suddenly, as if remembering something, and Harry used that opportunity to snatch the Quaffle and streak towards the other side of the field. He could hear Malfoy behind him, and hurtled towards the ground. However, Malfoy wasn’t going to be tricked, and hovered around the goalposts. Harry cursed his luck and pulled upwards, watching Malfoy like a hawk as he inched nearer. But Malfoy wasn’t letting his guard down. “Oi, is that Daphne down there watching?” he asked desperately. It was a cruel, sly trick, but it worked. Malfoy whipped his head around and Harry chucked the ball in. “10 to Gryffindor,” he shouted. 

Malfoy retrieved the Quaffle, grinning wickedly. “That was quite un-Gryffindor of you,” he sniggered. “What do you think the Weaselette would say if she saw you doing that?”

“Come off it, that’s old news,” Harry shot back. “Ginny and I aren’t together,” he added, though not quite sure why.

“Did she finally get tired of doing someone thicker than the skull of a concussed elephant?”

“I don’t see how you would know  _ that  _ information.” Malfoy went silent at that, and the two did not talk for the remainder of their informal game.

* * * * *

“ _ Ignarus amoris,”  _ Harry muttered sleepily, ignoring the Fat Lady’s admonishing as her portrait swung open to reveal the common room. Unfortunately, Hermione was still by the fireplace, waiting up. She shot him a scathing glare as he collapsed next to her. “How much work did you get done?”

“Loads, I’m almost finished,” she hissed. “And you?”

“I was playing Quidditch,” he replied defensively, rubbing his eyes.

Hermione’s voice rose to a whisper-shriek. “Harry, it’s 10:30 right now! You were out past curfew  _ playing Quidditch,  _ and you’ve gotten next to no work done! I didn’t think you came back to Hogwarts to be like this!”

“You don’t know why I came back to Hogwarts,” Harry retorted. “You don’t know a damn reason why!” He had stayed out late, blowing off steam, because it was Malfoy’s fault. Malfoy shouldn’t have gone after Ron and taunted Harry. Malfoy shouldn’t have thrown that Quaffle, or Harry wouldn’t have stayed out late. There was no way he could’ve passed up on a game without seeming weak, could he? Plus, the later he stayed, the less nightmares he would have to deal with. Maybe tonight, he could dream about the pleasant round of Quidditch this evening instead of his usual nightmares.

He shook his head. Had he just called Quidditch with Malfoy  _ pleasant?  _ He finally conceded that yes, it was pleasant, but only because he had seen Malfoy get worked up when Harry had scored. It wasn’t the  _ actual  _ playing with Malfoy that was pleasant. And he definitely was not wondering whether Malfoy had skived off on homework and common room time for the same reasons he had. Nope, not a wonder in the world. Because Harry Potter did not care about Draco Malfoy. He could care less about the slimy git, no matter what Daphne had told him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags will be updated as this story goes on.
> 
> The ending of this chapter can be triggering to some - I myself found it very hard to write - so please proceed with caution.
> 
> Constructive criticism and comments are, as always, welcome.

As the warm September nights turned into chillier October ones, the dynamic between the two students changed. Draco found himself not getting the same satisfaction out of taunting Potter, for whatever strange reason. And Potter didn’t pay any more attention to Draco than he had to, the only exception being during Quidditch. The words they exchanged dwindled down from hurled insults to muttered greetings, until they stopped talking to each other entirely.

McGonagall had surprisingly turned down her golden boy’s request to join the Gryffindor Quidditch team, stating that 8th years were not allowed to play since their talents would be more useful elsewhere, and handed him job requests from the Wasps and the Tornadoes. Potter had, surprisingly, declined both offers, so Draco found him at the Quidditch pitch every night that it was open. The two played aggressively from 7 to 10. They didn’t even keep score nowadays, since keeping score would require the use of one’s voice. It was like an unspoken agreement - Draco would get the Quaffle from the Quidditch shed, Potter would arrive, and they would toss the ball around, until one night when Potter threw the ball  _ at  _ Draco. Draco caught in just in time, nearly falling off his broom in surprise. Potter jerked his head towards the opposite goalpost as he flew ahead. Draco threw the ball back, and from that day on, they passed the ball back and forth in a weirdly comfortable, Chaser-like limbo. Despite having never played Chaser before, Potter was  _ good,  _ Draco conceded. He hadn’t dropped the Quaffle once since they had started this new exercise.

_ Unlike McGregory, who seemed to drop the Quaffle more times than he held it.  _ Draco glared angrily at the scrawny 4th year on the Slytherin team from the stands, his fellow snakes groaning as Davey McGregory dropped the Quaffle yet  _ again.  _ What the hell was Urquhart up to? The Weasley girl swooped down and around, drawing her arm back and hurling the Quaffle into the goalpost. The lions on the other side of the pitch rose up and cheered. 

And there he was.

Draco’s lip curled. Nestled between the bushy-haired Granger chit and clumsy Longbottom was  _ precious fucking Potter,  _ gloating over his girlfriend’s accomplishment. No, wait, they weren’t together anymore. And that much was obvious when Granger slipped her hand into Potter’s and kissed his nose.

_ What the fuck? _

“Ooh, Potter’s Mudblood just went  _ public,”  _ Pansy whispered maliciously, ignoring Daphne’s scathing glare at the word  _ Mudblood _ . “Bet they were up to more than reading books and hunting Horcruxes in that tent.”

The Weaselette seemed to notice it too, and her whole body went rigid with tension. She swerved around on her broom so violently that she almost knocked over one of her own teammates. “Be careful, Ginevra,” Lovegood, the announcer, breathed dreamily. “You almost took out Robin’s head there. I’ll give you something for the Blibbering Humdingers later.”

“This game is a joke,” Draco growled, pushing his way past Pansy to exit the stands. “I’m going to be sick if I watch it any longer.” He made his way towards the castle. Could he  _ Accio  _ his broomstick from his dormitory right now and fly after the game? He wouldn’t wait for  _ Precious  _ Potter tonight. The Gryffindor was obviously there only because Draco was, and Draco wouldn’t want to  _ intrude  _ on his lovely evenings that could be better spent with Granger. Why was he so upset though? If anything, he should be happy that he wouldn’t have to fly with Potter-

“Oi, Malfoy!”  _ Speak of fucking Satan.  _

And just like that, his wand was out, pointed straight between Potter’s eyes. “Stalking me again, aren’t you?” he spat. “Well, I assure you, there are no  _ Death Eaters  _ that I’m going to let into the school. So politely fuck off and leave me to my own business.” That was more than a little harsh, especially since they were the first words Draco had spoken to Potter in weeks, but it was worth it to see the shock and surprise on Potter’s face.

“I...I saw you leaving the pitch and was wondering if you were sick,” Potter mumbled. “So, uh, I wanted to know if you were coming down to play tonight.”

_ Yeah, right.  _ “No, I won’t. I’ll give you a night off to snog Granger. Maybe you can get into her knickers,” Draco sneered, turning away and heading towards the Slytherin common room. He didn’t understand why he was so frustrated. Potter could snog whomever he wanted to snog, it wasn’t any of Draco’s bloody business.

* * * * *

“Where did you go during the match?” Pansy muttered, poring over an old textbook. She was in the library finishing up an essay for Flitwick since Theo was serving a detention. Draco had chosen to accompany her even though his essay was already finished so he wouldn’t be alone with his thoughts - thoughts about goddamn Potter. “Are you upset that McGonagall isn’t letting any of the 8th years play?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Draco replied dryly. “Definitely.”

Pansy ignored him, suddenly sitting up. “Oh, you’ll never guess what I heard today,” she whispered, looking around to see if anyone was listening in. When the coast was clear, she continued. “Before the match, I was in the lavatory, and I heard Ginevra and the Lovegood girl. They were talking about - well, you’re not going to believe me, but anyways. They were talking about how Potter’s  _ gay,  _ and that’s why he and Ginevra broke up.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ginevra’s probably lesbian, I heard her snogging Lovegood after. You think they’re together?”

Draco rubbed his ears. “Did I...hear you correctly?” 

“Ginevra’s lesbian? Yeah, didn’t see that one coming either.” Pansy chuckled mirthlessly.

“No, about Potter being gay,” Draco snapped. “I-”

“Oh yeah, that’s what I heard, and Ginevra would know. Bet that was a plot twist for her.” Pansy flourished her quill dramatically as she finished the last sentence. “There, done.” She narrowed her eyes. “Hey, Draco?”

But Draco was a million miles away, filled with a strange feeling called regret and a sudden desire to apologize to Potter. “I’ve got to go,” he whispered.

“Come off it, what’s going on?” she asked. “What-”

Draco was already out the library door, striding towards the Slytherin common room. He shoved a couple of second years out of the way as they said the password and hurried up to his dorm, tearing his shirt from his body as fast as he possibly could, lest it choke him. His hands were shaking as he stood there, wanting to shower yet unable to move. 

_ Why,  _ exactly, did the news about Potter being gay shock him so much? It’s not like he cared about the other boy. And what if Draco cared? What if... _ what if… _ no. Draco collapsed onto his bed, burying his head in his hands. He would not allow himself to think like that, because he was the son of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, the only heir to the Malfoy name. That was not an option. Besides, Potter loathed him with a hatred so intense that it could tear down mountains. 

_ That’s all I’ve ever been though...hated. Why should I change that? Don’t I deserve it, for everything I’ve ever done? _

He drew his wand and sent a slicing hex to his arm, creating a shallow gash. A strange sense of satisfaction and release filled him as blood welled up on the top of the wound and began to slide down his wrist. He sent another towards the cursed skull, giving him a curious sense of power as he defaced the mark that has been holding his body, mind, and soul captive for two hellish years and counting. Blood started to drip onto his green duvet, but he found that he didn’t care.

A loud crack startled him, and his head shot upwards. He blinked rapidly, not believing what he saw. Potter,  _ goddamn Potter,  _ who was haunting his every thought, now haunted his presence. He was standing in the  _ Slytherin dormitory,  _ looking terribly out-of-place in a Gryffindor jumper and dark slacks. One hand was clutching his precious Firebolt, and the other was locked in...was that  _ a house elf’s hand?  _ The house elf took one terrified glance at Draco and winked away. It obviously knew that it wasn’t supposed to have done what it did.

Draco looked up at Potter, willing himself to stay calm. He knew he was fucking lucky though that Potter couldn't do Legilimency, couldn’t read Draco's treacherous, unstable thoughts that nearly burst with shame that his own wretched self-harming was exposed unwillingly before his rival.


	6. Chapter 6

Harry had arrived at the Quidditch pitch, Firebolt in hand, itching to confront the blond Slytherin after their encounter earlier. Surely Malfoy didn’t mean what he said, about giving Harry the night off to snog _Hermione,_ of all people? She wasn’t his type...not in the slightest. He had snorted derisively, scanning the skies. His heart had sunk as he realized that the pitch was empty. “Well, maybe I could go and convince Malfoy to come down and play?” he had muttered to himself. “Just to play, I don’t care about him…” 

He had made his way up to the entrance hall again, racking his brain for the memory of the Slytherin common room entrance. Surely he had seen it when he had set Dobby and Kreacher on Malfoy 6th year...an idea had dawned on him. “Kreacher!” he had hissed.

Kreacher winked in. “Master calls Kreacher, Kreacher shall comes,” the elf had muttered, bowing low.

“Kreacher, er, take me to Draco Malfoy’s dormitory,” Harry had ordered, heart pounding.

“Kreacher cannot do that, Kreacher cannot. It is impossible for Kreacher to enters the Malfoy boy’s dorm,” Kreacher replied. “But Kreacher can gets-” He had snapped his gnarled fingers, and another house elf had appeared. “-Pippy. Pippy can assists my Master.” Pippy had blinked once before nodding and holding out her hand for Harry to take. 

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry had said, the elf bowing low in approval. Harry had taken Pippy’s hand and they had winked into Malfoy’s dorm, unprepared for the sight that awaited him.

Now, as Harry stood in front of his rival whose arm was dripping in blood, he didn’t feel revulsion or horror towards Malfoy. He felt only shame and empathy for the boy that had suffered so much. “No more of that,” he whispered, walking forward and taking Malfoy’s arm in his hand. 

He fumbled for his wand. “ _Vulnera Sanentur,”_ he whispered over and over again. The gashes drew together slowly, shiny pink scars covering the Dark Mark. He sneaked a glance down at Malfoy’s chest as he worked, and hoped he didn’t wince at the pale pink gashes stretching across his abs.

“Sectumsempra,” Malfoy muttered, mouth twisting bitterly. “Snape put Dittany on them, but they’ve never quite healed.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry mumbled, remembering the near-fatal wand fight in the bathroom from sixth year.

“The past is the past, don’t be.” Malfoy siphoned away the blood from his duvet, swallowing. His Adam’s apple bobbed and Harry had a sudden urge to kiss him. He blinked rapidly. Kissing _Draco Malfoy_? Absolutely not! _Get a grip on yourself!_

“Erm, you can let go now,” Malfoy mumbled, and Harry realized he was still holding Malfoy’s arm in his hand. He resolutely refused to think about the tingle of Malfoy’s cool skin against his own as he withdrew his hand reluctantly.

The silence was heavy and tense, neither boy looking at one another.

“So. Why are you here?” Malfoy finally asked. The blond lounged on his bed, running a hand through his tousled hair. He seemed to see no need to put on a shirt, and his abs flexed as he stretched out his legs.

Harry swallowed nervously. “Uh…er…you weren’t at the Quidditch pitch, and I was wondering where you were.”

“Bold of you to assume I wanted to be found,” Malfoy remarked dryly. “I’m not up to Quidditch tonight.” He suddenly looked up, meeting Harry’s eyes. “None of this will get out.”

“Of course not,” Harry replied. “I wouldn’t dare tell anyone-”

“You better not.” Malfoy’s relaxed demeanor suddenly disappeared, and he shifted on his bed, eyes cold and appraising. “Why are you still here, anyways?”

“I, er-”

“Get out, Potter,” Malfoy spat, scowling, hand groping for his wand. “Before I hex you into oblivion.”

“But I-”

“GET OUT!”

Harry was quite happy to oblige. He had no idea what had caused Malfoy’s shift in mood and was rather hurt that Malfoy had kicked him out after Harry had healed him. He cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and called for Pippy once more, who winked in and out with Harry on her thin arm.

* * * * *

“So, where were you last night?” Hermione asked quietly as Harry stumbled into the Great Hall, ladling eggs and bacon onto his plate.

“Quidditch,” Harry mumbled, shoveling food into his mouth. He did not want to think, since he was sure his thoughts were quite plainly showing on his face. He had woken up with quite the mess in his trousers like a 4th year. It was unexplainably embarrassing – he had seen Draco Malfoy’s abs once, and now he wanted to snog the git.

“So Quidditch in the Slytherin dormitory?” Hermione remarked, grinning when Harry choked on his pumpkin juice. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No clue what you’re talking about,” Harry muttered unconvincingly, looking up as a glowing Jack Russell Terrier bounded in front of Hermione. “Wow, I didn’t know Ron could do that.”

“I taught him this summer,” Hermione said, a pink tinge coloring her pale cheeks as the dog nuzzled her neck. “I didn’t know he would do this though.”

“Thinking of you with every passing day, ‘Mione,” Ron’s voice said. “Tell Harry that I’ll see him at Christmas break and I’ve got a special surprise for him. Love, Ron.”

“That’s quite sweet of him,” Hermione gushed. She conjured up on her own otter and sent it dashing out the Great Hall door. 

“Could you teach me?” Harry asked suddenly. At Hermione’s confused look, he added, “How to make a talking Patronus, I mean.”

“Sure, we can practice at lunch. I’ll be off to the library,” Hermione declared, hugging Harry once before getting up and walking as fast as etiquette would allow.

“Going to send that to your special someone?” Ginny asked quite rudely from where she was sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“Sod off, Ginevra,” Harry muttered. He didn’t know what had brought about this sudden wave of rude behavior from the youngest Weasley. Ever since he had told her on the train that he was gay-

A cold feeling washed over him. Ginny had made those snide comments time and time again, and Ron had made some stupid homophobic comments before, but he had just assumed Ginny was getting over him and Ron was being dumb. 

But they were the _Weasleys..._ they had welcomed him like family when his own was gone, they had taken care of him every summer at the Burrow, they claimed over and over again that they loved him like he was one of their own, and surely they would accept him for who he was, gay or not, right?

He looked up, his gaze suddenly meeting Malfoy’s. Malfoy gave a noncommittal jerk of his head and Harry gave him a small smile. Maybe the Slytherin wasn’t so bad after all. He had been okay to Harry during their school year so far for the most part.

_Right, but he kicked you out of his dorms last night-_

That was reasonable though, he was in a tough spot and didn’t expect Harry to see him vulnerable like that.

Malfoy rose from his bench, and Harry did too, ignoring Ginny’s scathing glare. He walked quickly so he could catch up with Malfoy as they both exited the Great Hall. “All right?” he said mildly.

To his surprise, Malfoy sneered at him as their robes accidentally touched. and he drew back. “Move along, Potter,” he growled. “I saw the Mudblood hug you, and I wouldn’t want her taint on my robes, I just washed them, you see…”

Harry could only stare, shocked, as Malfoy walked away. Hadn’t he learned…last night…the war… _the war…w_ ithout thinking, he whipped out his wand and shouted, “ _Furnunculus!”_

A jet of blue light shot out of his wand and soared towards Malfoy, who blocked it with a lazy flick of his wand. “Thought you would’ve learned from Moody that you don’t attack people when their backs are turned,” he scoffed, lip curled.

“You made a fine ferret,” Harry retorted, wand at the ready. Malfoy’s scowl darkened, and red light came soaring Harry’s way, who deflected it.

Unfortunately, at that moment, Professor Flitwick came around the corner, squeaking indignantly as the jinx hit him and he flew backwards.

_Shit._

“Mr. Potter! Mr. Malfoy!” the professor shouted. “Twenty points each from Gryffindor and Slytherin! And a detention as well! We do not duel in the halls! I expect more from our 8th years.” Sniffing, he got up and shuffled away.

That was not the last time Malfoy was unnecessarily mean to Harry that day. Later in Potions, he sent a muttered curse towards Harry’s cauldron which caused his potion to become a sluggish, viscous material with its own mind. The entire class had to stand on their stools while Slughorn _Evanescoed_ up the potion and sent Neville to the hospital wing for minor burns.

“So, no Quidditch tonight?” Harry hissed as they exited the classroom.

“Of course? Were you hoping I’d call it off? Are you _scared,_ Potter?” Malfoy snapped back.

“ _You wish.”_ Hermione had to drag Harry away from a smirking Malfoy, Harry struggling against her iron-clad grip. “Just one punch-”

“You’ve already got a detention with Flitwick, if you haven’t noticed,” she said angrily. “You don’t need another one. And here, you forgot this back there, it came for you.” She thrust a piece of parchment into his hands. “Your detention’s at lunchtime in Filch’s office. I’ll teach you the spell later, I’ve got to go to the library.” And with that, she hurried off.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and started to walk towards Filch’s office. Detention with Malfoy was going to be…terrible.

He wasn’t wrong.

Filch made them polish trophies by hand, and while Harry was no stranger to the Muggle way of scrubbing things clean, Malfoy secretly siphoned off all the dirt and grime on his trophy with his wand and used a sticking spell to get it to stick to Harry’s trophies, which made the job twice as hard.

“All done, boy?” Filch muttered when the bell rang, his rheumy eyes skating over Malfoy’s trophies. Malfoy nodded assent and smirked as Filch glared irritably at Harry’s lot. “Tomorrow at lunchtime, Mr. Potter,” he growled. “And every lunchtime after that – as long as it takes to get these clean.”

“Have fun, Potter,” Malfoy yelled jovially as he swept down the corridor. Harry gritted his teeth and fought the urge to hex the slimy git. And to think that he thought that Draco Malfoy was halfway decent, and he’d wanted to snog him…

Malfoy hated him with the wild, burning passion of Fiendfyre. A tiger never changes its stripes, and Draco Malfoy wouldn’t either. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for the horrendous number of mistakes last chapter. I do not have a beta reader, and I did not rescan my chapter for mistakes before posting - it was quite the late night! I hope I edited them all out the next morning.
> 
> I will also editing be my summary as well as the rating. During my original story planning, I did think I would dip into the mature rating but I have decided not to.
> 
> Please let me know if you catch an error in this chapter or any others. Many thanks.

It was another quiet night in the Slytherin common room. Daphne was muttering curses under her breath as she pored over textbooks, attempting to complete that blasted Astronomy essay for Sinistra. She waved her hands in the air almost nonsensically as she attempted to visualize the locations of the planets.

Draco stared at his blank piece of parchment, quill in hand. The only thing he could visualize was fucking Potter’s face, the hurt and the anger and the realization that Draco Malfoy was a snake and could not be trusted.

And he still hadn’t apologized for the gay thing. Why did he feel so bad about that, anyways? _Oh, shut up. You know._ He stabbed his parchment angrily.

Quidditch had commenced every night at 7 on the dot, even when the first snow came. Potter seemed distant, and there was an awkward tension between the two, but Draco wasn’t talking first. His stubborn pride wouldn’t let him, God knows he needed to hold onto whatever remaining pride he had for as long as he could after that absolute shitshow known as his 7th year.

“What’s up with you tonight?” Daphne asked. “You’re distracted.”

Draco scowled. “I’m not distracted, I’m just...thinking.”

“About what?”

“I don’t know, bloody Astronomy homework maybe?” He gestured angrily towards his parchment. “It’s due after break, why am I even doing this?”

“Because you need to get an outline, then a first draft, then a second draft, then a final,” Daphne snapped. “And you’re already behind enough as it is because you’ve been hanging out with _Potter.”_

“I thought you were all for _friendship_ and _bravery?”_ Draco sneered.

Daphne sighed. “Just...be careful.”

“Right, because I can’t fucking take care of myself. Do you want to hold my hand when I go down to the Quidditch pitch tonight so I don’t trip on my robes?” 

“You know what I mean, stop being childish.” Daphne tapped her parchment and it rolled up smartly. “And as a matter of fact, I’ll go down with you tonight.”

Draco tensed. “Wait, why-”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Come on.” She slipped her hand into his, and Draco tried not to think about what _that_ gesture meant as they exited the common room together. Her small, smooth hand was cool against his, but it felt _wrong_ somehow. As they neared the pitch, he found himself gently trying to break their grip, but she tightened her grip until it was worse than Devil’s Snare.

Potter was already hovering around, Quaffle in hand. “You’re late,” he said coldly, the first words he had spoken to Draco since their shared detention. His eyes flickered to Daphne and Draco’s conjoined hands, and Draco felt a pang of anger and regret. _It’s not what it looks like-_

“I’ll be off in the stands,” Daphne chirped, oddly cheerful, and Draco watched as she made her way next to...was that _Granger?_ Was this _planned?_ They smiled at each other merrily, as if they were old friends, and Daphne seated herself next to Granger. The latter extracted two textbooks from her bag, and Draco snorted. _Of course. Homework buddies._ He rolled his eyes.

“We don’t have all night,” Potter muttered angrily. Draco rose on his broom silently, taking a warm-up lap around the pitch. He had never seen Potter this frigid before, and as much as he hated to admit it, that scared him. Where was the boy that had held his arm as he healed Draco’s ugly cuts without disgust or horror?

His stomach turned and he clutched his broom tighter as he realized this is how Potter must’ve felt when he was so cold to him, kicking him out of the dorms so abruptly-

_It was for Potter’s own good, you would’ve hurt him! He’s so pure...you can’t hurt him..._

He swerved violently, closely missing a post, as he accelerated to catch Potter’s curveball. _Who cares who I hurt, I’ve hurt everyone I care about already, and I don’t care about_ Saint Potter-

Daphne let out a panicked shriek. “Draco, _duck!”_ He ducked instinctively, and just in time too. A Bludger came soaring towards him and whistled past his ear in the spot where his head had just been. _What the fuck?_

“Which idiot set the Bludgers loose?” Potter roared. Interestingly enough, he sounded absolutely livid. “You could’ve hurt him!”

“You didn’t book the Quidditch pitch tonight!” another voice shouted back angrily. “Flitwick gave us permission to-” The voice stopped. “Oh, _shit,”_ it said hoarsely. “That’s Harry Potter!”

“Yes, that’s me,” Potter growled. “And?”

Draco swung his broom around to see the Ravenclaw Quidditch team muttering anxiously. Potter flew to the ground and strode towards them, crossing his arms. His breath came out in quiet, white clouds.

“We’ll practice tomorrow afternoon then,” the captain piped up. She paused, then smiled flirtatiously. “You’re really good at Quidditch, would you be open to giving me a few...tips?” She was a beauty, for sure, with flowing cocoa-colored hair and delicate features that Draco could make out from his broom. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he was unable to breathe. Of course, that was only a side effect of the extra strong Dreamless Draught Madam Pomfrey had supplied him with…right?

Potter stiffened. “No, thank you,” he said coldly. “You’re really not my type.” 

Granger just about shrieked with laughter at that, and Draco almost did as well. _Idiot. He and Granger are together._

_Oh wait, he’s gay._

His stomach tightened again.

The girl shot her a dirty look, her cheeks crimson. “I won’t...not offering...come on!” She quickly walked away, her teammates clustered behind her. 

Daphne was giggling too, and she whispered something to Granger, who whispered back before clearing her throat. “Harry, we should head up,” she called. “McGonagall’s doing rounds tonight and she won’t be fooled easily.”

“McGonagall can wait, Malfoy and I have a game to play,” Potter snapped. Granger looked taken aback, then started giggling with Daphne again. _Girls._ Potter looked just as confused, and shot a questioning look at Draco, who felt himself unable to breathe again. His cheeks were flushed brilliantly…and those fucking Quidditch robes were obscuring a tanned, athletic body, he was sure. _Why_ hadn’t he noticed until now how cute Potter was?

 _What the bloody hell are you thinking? Potter isn’t hot, Potter’s an arrogant_ git _who you want nothing to do with! And you should’ve been done with this shit, Father made sure of it!_ He suddenly sped towards the ground.

“Dra-Malfoy?” Potter stammered. “What-”

“I’ll see you here tomorrow night,” Draco snapped, his emotions raw and jangled as he got off his broom. “Daphne, we’re going.”

“Calm your tits,” the blonde called back calmly, putting her books away in an excruciatingly slow manner.

“Hey, Malfoy!” Potter yelled, now running towards Draco. “Where are you going?”

“Away,” Draco muttered, quickening his pace. He would leave without Daphne if he had to. He couldn’t stand another second in Potter’s odious presence.

And suddenly, Potter’s hand had wrapped around his right wrist. Draco whipped around and snapped his wrist towards him so that he and Potter were suddenly nose to nose. He was suddenly aware of every millimeter of movement. Potter blinked in surprise, and… _oh_. His eyes were so _green._ And his mouth was parted slightly in shock and his body was just about radiating heat in the cool night and his cheeks were still flushed and Draco so _desperately_ wanted to close the distance between them, preferably with his lips, but Potter drew back. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “For grabbing your wrist.”

“You should be,” Draco whispered. The feelings thrumming through him were so familiar and so _revolting,_ especially concerning Potter – Potter, out of all people! – that the longing to escape his own body, if only for a little while, grew stronger. “Stay…stay away from me.” He wrenched his wrist out of Potter’s grip and stormed up to the castle.

As soon as he reached the main entrance, he stopped, panting slightly. There was no way. There _couldn’t_ be a way. He had grown up with the belief that liking boys was _wrong,_ and his father had beaten it out of him mercilessly when Draco told him he suspected. Find a beautiful pureblood woman, settle down with her, and have a family, he had told Draco.

_Well, I don’t want a marriage of convenience. I want someone to hold, someone to love, someone to call mine._

Potter’s face sprang to mind, and he clenched his fists. _As if that would ever happen. With precious_ Potter _too._

_I can’t do this._

“Draco, what the fuck?” Daphne sounded furious, and she was walking rather quickly across the hall. “Why did you-”

He met her halfway in the hall and grabbed both her shoulders, bending down to touch her lips with his own. She gasped in surprise, and merely stood there as he began to move his lips against hers. His tongue swiped across her teeth roughly, and she began to respond, kissing back slowly. Draco waited for the chemistry, the spark of attraction (because Daphne _was_ an attractive girl), but none came. It was…nothing. Just the movement of flesh against flesh.

Daphne broke away from him gently. Her blue eyes were filled with tears, but they were for the boy in front of her. She removed his hands from her shoulders with her own hands, clasping them softly. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

But Draco couldn’t hear her because she was his last hope. The sinking feeling in his chest wasn’t because she hadn’t responded. It was because _he_ hadn’t. Any _straight_ boy would want to be in his place, snogging the gorgeous Daphne Greengrass. Even his parents would approve – she was gorgeous, with curves in all the right places and a slim body. She was prim and proper, demure enough to be a subservient wife but feisty enough to be able to pull strings. She was pureblooded. She was a _she._

_Since when did you care what your parents thought?_

He removed his hands from her small grip, nodding once before sweeping off. It wasn’t right to leave her alone in the corridor, and he knew it. But Draco Malfoy was anything but ethical. Everyone knew that.

* * * * *

A letter was waiting on his nightstand the next morning.

_D,_

_I’ve suspected that you were gay for a while now, and it was all but confirmed last night. I hope that doesn’t alarm you, but to be honest, I’ve seen all the signs. You’re not exactly secretive about your nightly meetings with Potter. That doesn’t necessarily mean anyone else knows – as far as I’m concerned, the general population at this school are idiots. I won’t tell anyone, promise. I would never._

_I’m sorry about what happened last night, and I’m not apologizing about that awful round of snogging. You’re a good kisser, but there was just no chemistry. And that’s not my fault. I guess I’m sorry for you. Being gay in a pureblood family, especially one that’s gone through as much trouble as yours has, isn’t exactly desirable. I’m here for you no matter what though. You can talk to me anytime._

_Daphne. Xx_

His breath all but stopped.

She knew.

She promised not to tell though. Daphne was known to keep secrets – she wasn’t like Pansy, who gossiped with anyone and everyone. But was her word good enough? He couldn’t risk it.

His Obliviation skills were strong…but a Forgetfulness Potion was easier, except memories could be broken out of someone if they took a Forgetfulness Potion. The safest option was to remove the memory using Legilimency, but then he’d have to create a whole new memory of that evening, and even then, she’d still be suspicious–

_What the hell are you thinking? You can’t erase your friend’s memory, that’s just not right._

“I’m past what’s wrong and what’s right,” he muttered to himself, pulling his duvet over his head to block out the sunlight. It was Saturday, and it would be smart to complete that damn essay so he wouldn’t have to do it over break, but he just couldn’t bring himself to get out of bed. Maybe breakfast in the Great Hall? No, then he’d have to see Potter…

_Potter’s breath against his cheek, green eyes–_

“Fuck,” he muttered, shifting in his bed. He felt his trousers began to tent uncomfortably and sighed. _That_ hadn’t happened since his fourth year, when pretty boy Diggory had suddenly made himself known.

This was supposed to be a year of relaxation, of healing. Instead, he accepted his disgusting _gayness,_ Potter unfortunately got cute, and Daphne figured out that he was gay.

Great.

_Well, at least things can’t get any worse this year._


	8. Chapter 8

The Great Hall was always a sleepy quiet on Saturday mornings. Snow flurries spiraled down from the Great Hall ceiling as it snowed just as softly outside.

“You’ve got one,” Hermione said. “Oh, on your nose,” she added at Harry’s confused look, reaching to brush his nose.

"I can brush away snow on my own nose," Harry snapped indignantly, glancing around to see if anyone was watching before brushing his own nose.

Hermione smiled knowingly. "Oh, I know you can," she responded vaguely. Harry sighed. Hermione was growing weirdly distant sometimes, like Luna. Was Luna rubbing off on Hermione? He grinned, shaking his head, imagining Hermione with colorful Spectrospecs and a Gurdyroot necklace.

An owl hooted and dropped the paper neatly next to Hermione’s plate. She stroked its tawny fur before giving five Knuts. Harry felt his stomach clench at the thought of the owl he had lost at the beginning of the war, his one tie to the magical world during his near-imprisonment at the Dursley’s. _Oh, Hedwig…_

“Harry,” Hermione hissed, and Harry started. The sleepy, relaxed mood had grown tense, and whispers of “Malfoy” and “Death Eaters” started raging up and down the tables like wildfire.

“What’s going on?” Harry muttered, swallowing a swig of pumpkin juice. “Is Malfoy involved?” he added, desperately trying not to think about the blond boy.

Hermione opened her paper, cleared her throat, and began to read:

_**FORMER DEATH EATERS BREAKOUT OF AZKABAN** _

_Minister of Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt is under high scrutiny this morning as he reports the escape of notorious Death Eaters Antonin Dolohov and Walden Macnair from Azkaban._

_“I don’t know how they did it,” said one bewildered Auror, who refused to give his name. “The dementors are furious, of course, they’ve let these criminals slip away right under their noses…”_

_Shacklebolt is well-known for his own career as an Auror, and his essential role as a part of Order of the Phoenix in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s downfall. He gave no comment about the escapes to press reporters this morning; however, he did warn the public to be on the lookout for suspicious activity._

_Dolohov was sentenced to Azkaban after the First Wizarding War after being convicted of the murders of Fabian and Gideon Prewett. Macnair was employed by the Ministry of Magic as an Executioner and was imprisoned after his standoff with Harry Potter at the Department of Mysteries. Both escaped with the help of Death Eaters, and after the Battle of Hogwarts, were charged with war crimes and sentenced to Azkaban for life._

_If you see either of the two men, please contact the Auror Department at the Ministry of Magic._

She set down the paper slowly. “Dolohov’s the one who did that awful curse at the Department of Mysteries.” Her hand absentmindedly reached for her chest where Harry knew there was still scars from Dolohov’s fatal curse.

Harry looked towards the Slytherin table, but Malfoy wasn’t at his usual spot. He stood up, scanning up and down the green-clad students for the familiar head of blond hair. “Malfoy isn’t here, and we know he’s a Death Eater. But did he help them…” He trailed off, not wanting to finish his question, or even _consider_ the fact.

“Are you going to say he helped them escape?” Hermione prodded.

“No, he gave up his Death Eaters way for sure, but er…I dunno,” Harry mumbled, clutching his left arm where he knew Malfoy’s scarred Dark Mark was branded into his skin.

Hermione glanced curiously at him, but let it drop. “I’m surprised McGonagall’s letting this slide,” she said matter-of-factly. “The Hogsmeade trip is still on as far as I know. Are you going?”

“Uh, I thought we were going together?” Harry said. She, Neville, Luna, and Harry had been planning to go to Zonko’s to see George Weasley, who had purchased it after the war. He and Fred had always had plans to purchase the Zonko branch so Hogwarts students would have easier access to their products. “George’s got a new line, I wonder what it is?”

“Some new and improved Love Potions,” Hermione sniffed. “Oh, and that reminds me, Elena Thomas is planning to slip you a love potion. I overheard it while I was in-”

“-the library,” Harry finished, sighing. The Ravenclaw Quidditch captain that had hit on Harry at the Quidditch pitch picked up a terrible habit of following him around for the last two weeks. Harry patiently told her many times that she wasn’t interested, but she had merely smiled each time and walked away. “It’s like Romilda Vane all over again.”

“This time, Ron won’t be here to eat your Chocolate Cauldrons.” Hermione smiled to herself. “Don’t take anything she offers you.”

“I know, I know,” Harry muttered tiredly. “Do you think I want to be under the influence of a Love Potion? The bloody stupid thing is that I wouldn’t know either way…”

“Love Potions, _Love Potions_ …that’s it!” Hermione grabbed a piece of parchment from hre book bagand started scribbling.

“Sorry, what?” Harry leaned over to look at her paper, but she shot him a dirty look. “Hermione, what are you writing?”

Hermione ignored him, sweeping everything into her book bag. “I have to go to the library.”

“But what about Hogsmeade? Are you just going to leave…?” Harry let his sentence trail as Hermione walked out the Great Hall, book bag in tow.

Neville and Luna walked over, Luna smiling mildly. “Oh, did she leave?” the Ravenclaw murmured. “She’s onto you, Harry.”

“Onto me…what?” Harry stammered.

“She and Daphne have been meeting a lot in the library recently.” Luna fidgeted with a radish earring. “I keep hearing them talk about you and Draco Malfoy.”

“Luna, you must’ve heard wrong,” Harry said desperately, heart pounding. There was no way…did Hermione _think_ he liked Draco? Because no bloody way…Malfoy’s an arrogant git who’s probably straight and Harry would have no chance with…

“Yeah, you probably did, Luna,” Neville said, grinning. “Because whenever Harry and Malfoy cross paths, bad shit ends up happening.”

Luna shrugged. “Well, I hope it’s okay if I invited Ginevra.” She pulled a sulking Ginny out of thin air, whose scowl turned even darker when she saw Harry. “Then we’ll still have four people.”

“You didn’t tell me Harry was going,” Ginny sputtered accusingly. “Otherwise-”

Luna put a slender finger to Ginny’s lips, and to Harry’s surprise, the redhead shut up. “We’re going to have less time if we don’t leave now.” The 7th year grabbed Ginny’s hand and pulled her away, Neville and Harry following.

“Sorry, mate, I know you and Ginny have got history,” Neville said sympathetically. “If I had known Luna was inviting Ginny, I would’ve told her not to…”

“It’s alright, Neville,” Harry muttered, his gaze flicking to a familiar blond head bobbing in the middle of the line of students waiting to leave the school gates for Hogsmeade. “You and Ginny and Luna could go on, I’ll be right back.” He cast a Disillusionment charm on himself and took off for the blond head, ignoring Neville’s bewildered pleading.

“You saw the paper this morning, didn’t you?” Daphne Greengrass was asking. “I mean, you didn’t come down, but I figured Theo or Pansy told you–”

“Yeah,” Malfoy muttered, frowning. “I didn’t have anything to do with it, if that’s what you’re going to ask me.”

“I’m offended that you think I’d believe that you’d have anything to do with those bastards,” Daphne said coldly.

“I’m glad you don’t.” Malfoy’s indifferent yet relieved drawl made Daphne roll her eyes. “Really.”

Harry cursed under his breath as they moved forward, the Slytherins setting off at a brisk pace and Harry struggling to keep up in the quickly rising snow. He could see that Daphne was holding Malfoy’s hand now, and he felt his hand itching for his wand. “You’ve changed, Draco,” Daphne murmured. “Now you’ve got something going on with Potter, who would’ve thought?”

“Keep your voice down!” Malfoy hissed, glancing around wildly before glaring at Daphne. “There’s nothing going on with Potter, we’re just playing Quidditch every night.”

“Really?” Daphne stopped suddenly. “Then why is Potter behind us?”

“He is?” Draco let go of Daphne’s hand immediately and whipped around, wand out. “Potter?”

Harry stood still, not daring to even breathe. He _couldn’t_ be caught, what would he say to explain himself? He didn’t even know why he was tailing Malfoy when he could be sipping warm butterbeers with Neville at the Three Broomsticks.

This was more than Malfoy looking hot, and Harry didn’t want to accept that.

“I must have been mistaken, my bad,” Daphne suddenly said smoothly. “Come on.” She clutched his hand tighter.

Harry lost it. “Stupefy!” he shouted, the Disillusionment charm fading away and Daphne flying backwards into the snow. She landed with a loud thump.

“Daphne!” Draco shouted hoarsely, running towards her limp body. “Daphne…”

“Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall was walking towards them from the village, her eyes wide. “What do you think…is that a student?” the headmistress shrieked. “Stunned badly, I’ll take her up to the infirmary, you two boys come along behind me.” She levitated Daphne and briskly walked towards the castle, not glancing back to see whether Harry and Malfoy were following.

Malfoy turned towards Harry. “She was right about you following us. What were you doing behind us, Potter?” He advanced on Harry, wand drawn, his features contorted into an ugly mask of disgust. “Answer me!”

“I…I…” Harry stammered as Malfoy towered over him. “I don’t–”

“You stunned her 15 feet away, Potter! You knew what you were doing.” Malfoy’s wand was under Harry’s chin now, tilting it upwards. “Are you _jealous?”_

“Jealous? Of _you?”_ Harry spat. “Of course not, I don’t envy being in your position with everyone asking you if you’ve let the Death Eaters out of Azkaban–”

“I DIDN’T BREAK THEM OUT!” Malfoy roared, spittle flying from his mouth. He looked absolutely furious now. “You stunned my friend, and the last thing I want is for those bloody arseholes to come out of the shadows and take her while she’s lying there!”

“Your friend?” Harry shouted derisively. “Holding her hand, that’s friendship right there…”

“You’re jealous of _her_ then.” Malfoy suddenly went quiet, sneering. “Aren’t you? Jealous of her holding my hand, Potter? Well, just because you’re _gay_ and you don’t have the slightest chance of getting with another bloke doesn’t mean that you can blast her like that!”

Harry suddenly went still, shocked. Malfoy knew, Malfoy _knew,_ and oh _gods_ the whole school would know by tomorrow morning, but he didn’t care how they reacted, really. It was just _Malfoy_ spitting contempt at him right now, _Malfoy_ getting under his nerves in all the wrong ways. He opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out.

“I wouldn’t tell anyone though, you realize that? I’ve known for ages, and I haven’t told anyone.” Malfoy’s wand hand was shaking so badly, but it wasn’t just his hand, it was his whole bloody _body._ He looked sad and pathetic now, like when he was on the Astronomy Tower to kill Dumbledore. And despite having everything against Malfoy, Harry felt the strong urge to hug him, and never let go. “I know the importance of keeping secrets, Potter. And no matter how much you’ve hurt me, I’ll keep your secret.” He ran off, a choked sob escaping his mouth.

Harry stood there, desperately wanting to run after him, but unable to. He felt like he was about to explode with a thousand different emotions. Slowly, he trod towards the village, not knowing what else to do. He wished he could go back in time and un-Stun Daphne or stayed with Neville and Luna and Ginny. He wished he had never heard what Malfoy had said.

 _Just because you’re_ gay _and you don’t have the slightest chance of getting with another bloke doesn’t mean you can blast her like that!_

The only reason Harry wanted to cry was because Malfoy had no right to judge and do that, he was angry at Malfoy, but Malfoy had _said_ he’d keep Harry’s secrets, but he couldn’t trust Malfoy, but but but…

_This is not what I came back to Hogwarts for._

_Well, at least things can’t get any worse this year._


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for reading my story up to this far! School starts in about a week, unfortunately. I’ll attempt to post a chapter every weekend, but being realistic, updates probably won’t come as frequently :(
> 
> I intend to post the next chapter tomorrow since I’ve been writing quite a bit (no Internet = more time to write) so keep your eyes peeled for that!

The Christmas holidays were fast approaching, and the general excited fervor of an upcoming Christmas break was growing. Hagrid had lugged twelve humongous conifers from the Forbidden Forest to the Great Hall, and they had been decorated by the house elves with gaudy, outlandish ornaments and golden lights. The first years had squealed at the sight of them, as if they had never seen bloody _Christmas trees_ before. Flitwick’s choir began practicing after classes, and Christmas carols floated up and down the halls. The holiday spirit was definitely in the air.

“Theo, do you want to spend break with me at my parents’ beach cottage?” Pansy asked one weekend in the common room as she, Theo, Daphne, and Draco lay sprawled around the fire after a rather fun snowball fight. The fire never quite warmed the whole room, but it was better than nothing. “They said I could have it all to myself.”

“I’d love to,” Theo replied, eyes growing hot as Pansy giggled delightedly and draped herself over his lap.

“Get a room, you two,” Daphne muttered, staring into the flames. She surprisingly hadn’t been angry after Potter had Stunned her, and had only smiled thinly when he suggested she hex him back later – the absolute _nerve_ of that bastard. Why had he done that, anyways?

_And why are you forgiving him? You still go down and play Quidditch with him every night that the snow’s not bad. Sure, you don’t talk to him, but still…_

“Do you have any Christmas plans, Daph?” Pansy asked.

“Astoria and I are visiting our grandparents in Croatia,” she replied. “It’s going to be absolutely freezing, but I suppose it’ll be worth it. I haven’t seen my baba and didi in forever.”

“What about you, Draco?” Theo grinned at him. “You can spend holiday with us if Pansy allows you.”

“He’ll have to put up with all the snogging,” Pansy smirked, running a hand through Theo’s hair.

“I’ll gladly turn that offer down,” Draco put in coldly. “I’m going to stay here at Hogwarts for the break.”

“At least Granger and Potter won’t be here, I heard they’re spending Christmas at the Weasley’s pig farm,” Pansy spat maliciously.

“Does Weasley know that Hermione’s going home for Christmas break?” Daphne asked.

The use of Granger’s given name did not go unnoticed, and Pansy nearly fell out of Theo’s lap. Daphne rolled her eyes, as if to say _Idiot._ It wasn’t much surprise to Draco, who had seen them working in the library at times, greeting each other in the halls, and even partnering up in class. The war hadn’t changed Pansy much, which was both a curse and a blessing. Pansy was familiar. She still declared Granger a dirty Mudblood even though the term was deemed more offensive after the war (which Granger _was_ since it’s not like you can change your blood lineage) and Potter an arrogant git (which he is, and always will be).

So why, exactly, did Draco’s heart begin to race at the mere mention of that _arrogant git?_

Pansy rolled her eyes after recovering from her shock. “You’ve seen this too? Ugh, I bet he doesn’t even care.” She picked up a tabloid from the center table, where a picture of Weasley and a slim, raven-haired girl were framed by the words, “Auror-In-Training Becoming Auror-In-Affair?”

“Poor Granger,” she pouted mockingly. “At least she’s got Potter to comfort her.”

“I’m sick of this talk,” Draco snapped, standing abruptly and summoning his broom and Quidditch robes from his dormitory. “I’m going to Quidditch with Potter.”

“Ask him if he knows about his friend’s…recent developments,” Pansy called, shrieking as Theo cut her off by tickling her.

Draco ignored her, throwing on his Quidditch robes and exiting the common room. He wasn’t sure how bad the snow was since it had started to snow again when the Slytherins had gone inside, but if Potter was playing in the snow, Draco wasn’t about to back out like some namby-pamby wuss.

“Hey, Malfoy!” And fuck.

 _He_ stood there, on the top of the stairs, dressed in only casual Muggle jeans and a closely-knit jumper which left little to the imagination. Draco swallowed. “You won’t last a minute out in the cold with that attire,” he sneered.

“Well, I was hoping that, er, maybe we could do something other than Quidditch?” Potter asked hopefully, fidgeting with the hem of his jumper. “It’s rather cold out, don’t you think? So it might be more fun to do something inside, like Charms practice, or dueling, or...”

“Charms practice?” Draco’s mouth was dry. This offer was going far beyond the stupid rivalries that he and Potter had on the pitch. This was almost an _olive branch_. An offer of friendship! _What the hell is he playing at?_

“I mean, I understand if you have more important things to do,” Potter said hurriedly. “You don’t have to-”

“Charms practice sounds good,” Draco interrupted.

_The fuck, Draco? Why the bloody hell did you agree? He Stunned Daphne, he’s been a pain in the arse for seven years and counting, he hates you and you hate him…_

He ignored his thoughts and vanished his broom, permitting himself a small smile as Potter beamed down at him. “Where do you want to go?”

“Maybe the Room of Requirement?” the other boy suggested. “If it’s still working after…after last year.” He looked so hopeful, so excited that _Draco fucking Malfoy_ had agreed to Charms practice with him, that Draco felt a bit warm inside.

“Yeah. Yeah, we can try that.” Draco made his way next to Potter, and the two began walking up to the RoR in a tense, awkward silence.

“Look,” Potter said suddenly. “I’m really sorry about Stunning Daphne back at Hogsmeade. I’m not sure what came over me. Is she okay?”

“You’re asking that question just a tad late,” Draco retorted dryly. Potter’s face fell, and he hurriedly added, “But she’s fine, really. I think she’d like it if you apologized to her face to face though. Girls are impressed by that kind of thing.”

“I’ve tried to do that, but I’ll keep on trying. It’s okay though, girls aren’t really my type,” Potter said lightly.

It took Draco a second to realize that Potter was joking around with him, and he chuckled, then sobered. “I, er, this apology thing you did is getting to me, so _fuck you,_ but I’m sorry that I said all the stuff I said after you Stunned Daphne. None of it is true.”

“You were angry, it’s understandable.”

They arrived in front of the RoR, a thousand unsaid words between them. Potter paced back and forth in front of it three times, muttering instructions under his breath. A solid wooden door appeared, and Draco reached for the handle. The door creaked as he swung it open and he tensed, half-expecting to see cold towers of ornate metal and black boxes looming over him.

He couldn’t have been more wrong. “Is this…is this the Gryffindor common room?” Draco glanced around at the warm, cozy atmosphere, both relaxed and daunted by the crackling fire, the well-worn armchairs, the tables with blunted edges and small gouges from decades of use. To Potter’s credit, there wasn’t a lion in sight.

“It’s where Ron and Hermione and I used to practice Charms for OWLs,” he explained. “I tried to get most of the furniture correct…” He closed his eyes, and a pink armchair dropped from out of thin air into a spot in front of the fireplace. “There.” At Draco’s blank expression, he added, “Well, I know it’s much different from the Slytherin common room, but it’s much chillier in your common room and I would like to feel warm tonight.”

_Be careful what you wish for, Potter. You’ll find yourself a bit too warm. And thoroughly snogged._

Now where the hell had _that_ come from? Draco banished his traitorous thoughts, cursing himself inwardly. Suddenly, his eyes widened. “How do you know that our common room’s always chilly?” he asked suspiciously.

Potter looked away. “Oh, you’re in the dungeons, so it’s bound to be chilly,” he replied casually. A bit too casually. Draco stared at him. No Slytherin gave away Slytherin secrets. How had this little shit been in the common room? And _when?_

“Now, er, do you want to practice Charms or duel or something–” Potter began. He never got the chance to finish. Draco flicked his wand and dark blue light soared towards Potter, who glared darkly at him and blocked it. “Oi, my back was turned, that’s dirty Quidditch!”

“It’s fair Quidditch,” Draco purred, ducking as Potter shot a hex at him. “You should be attentive at all times.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Potter muttered. “You dirty snake.” He was clearly distracted by anger, and spell after clumsy spell ricocheted off the walls.

Draco merely smirked and dove behind an armchair, but it exploded, throwing Draco backwards. Bits of fluff flew into his hair, and he tousled his hair roughly, annoyed. “ _Impedimenta!”_ The spell caught Potter, who slow-motion fell behind a chair, but released himself from the hex quickly.

Draco was scowling now. He thought Potter would be easy game, but apparently not. Potter had all but disappeared from the room, actually. He frowned, glancing around. Where was that damn boy?

“ _Levicorpus!”_

And suddenly, Draco was upside down, hanging from midair by his leg. “Let me down!” he snapped as Potter guffawed with laughter. “And you call me dirty?” He flicked his wand subtly, and Potter fell over as a well-placed Tripping Hex hit him. He released Draco, who tumbled to the ground, entangled in his thick Quidditch robes. “Goddammit,” he hissed, throwing his robes into a corner, and on second thought, throwing his jumper after it.

Potter stared at him intently, Draco unnerved by Potter’s eyes fixated on his bare chest. He looked down self-consciously. “What–” He suddenly flew backwards, hitting a stone wall. That little shit had done a nonverbal spell! Pain shot through his entire body.

“Malfoy!” Potter shouted, running towards him. “Are you okay, oh my gods I’m so sorry…”

Draco hit him neatly with a Freezing Hex. Potter stiffened in midstride, falling to the floor with a loud crack as the ice encasing him hit stone. “Never let your guard down, Potter. Now, that will take a while to wear off,” he grinned, stretching languidly and strolling towards the other boy. “Now while we wait…”

But Potter was already melting, his face scrunched up with the effort of melting himself nonverbally. “Y…you’re u…u…unbelievable, Malfoy,” he spat, though his chattering made his fury less poisonous and more amusing. “I thought y…you were a…actually hurt and g…g…got scared!”

“I’m touched,” Draco sneered, though his heart gave a little pulse of excitement. “Were you scared for me?”

“H…h…ha, no! S…s…cared that I w…would h…h…have to d…drag your body t…t…to the infirmary and P…Pomfrey would a…a…ask questions,” Potter retorted, getting up slowly.

“I’m sure your little spell isn’t that strong.” Draco rolled his eyes. “You overestimate your abilities as usual, Potter.”

“W…w…whatever,” Potter muttered, shivering violently. He shot a weak spell at the fire, which rose higher before sputtering out weakly. “D…d…damn.”

Draco cast a Tempus charm. “Good timing, Potter. You’ll be back in your warm, toasty bed in no time. We have to leave now, or we’ll break curfew.” He put his jumper back on and threw his Quidditch robes over his shoulder. He pulled the door open, then paused, not believing he was about to do what he was about to do. “You’re still shivering.” He took his thick Quidditch robes from his shoulder and wrapped it around Harry’s figure. His hand brushed Potter cheek accidentally, and he froze, the skin that touched Potter seemingly on fire. Potter glanced at him inquisitively. His beautiful emerald eyes met Draco’s, and they held each other’s gaze, both not wanting to break away. Potter’s always-messy hair started to scream for Draco to comb a hand through it, and his flushed cheeks begged Draco to grasp them softly and maybe lean in to snog Potter too–

Draco felt his heart begin to pound and sighed inwardly. _Damn you to fucking hell Potter, you son of a bitch…why in the shit are you so attractive?_

_Of course, it’s only a physical attraction, nothing mental…it’s just how you look that’s attractive, not your bloody voice or your mental capacity or anything like that…_

_Fuck, I’m so gay._

“You good?” Potter asked softly, and Draco gave a jerky nod in response. “Thank you,” Potter said, clutching Draco’s robes close to his body and smiling as he was engulfed in warmth. “When can I give this back to you?”

“Keep it, I have more robes,” he muttered gruffly. “This one has a Warming charm cast on it specifically for cold Quidditch.”

“That’s bloody brilliant, you know,” Potter said. “Putting a Warming charm on your robes, I mean. No one on the Gryffindor team has ever thought to do that.”

“That’s because you Gryffindors are all dunderheads,” Draco retorted.

Potter gave no reply, and instead rolled his eyes. As they reached the end of the hall where they would have to separate and go on their respective paths to their common rooms, Draco felt himself wanting to turn back. But he kept walking on, slowing his pace minutely.

They reached the end of the hallway too soon. “Thank you again,” Potter mumbled. “I…I’d best be going. Good…good night, Malfoy.”

“Good night, Potter,” Draco replied, turning away and walking down the hall briskly. He descended into the dungeons and said the common room password absentmindedly. Draco was still very much far away, stuck in Potter’s gaze.

“So, you go to play Quidditch, but you come back with no broom and your Quidditch robes gone?” Pansy was, unfortunately, still awake, and lounging on the couch with Theo and Daphne. She got up and strolled towards him, leaning in towards his face to scrutinize him. “Flushed cheeks, messy hair…no swollen lips,” she remarked. “This was a one-time fling then! So, who’s the lucky girl?”

Draco bit back a snarky retort. Pansy was wrong in so many ways, from what he was doing to her use of the word _girl_. “Potter and I were dueling,” he replied evenly. “I Vanished my broom and took off my Quidditch robes. It was a very heated duel.” He didn’t mention how his robes were now in Potter’s possession. He’d omitted the truth, but that wasn’t lying, as the Slytherin philosophy dictated. There was no need for unnecessary information.

“You’ve got fluff in your hair,” Pansy said cheerfully, plucking bits of white cotton from his scalp. “I’m not sure what spell ‘Potter’ used when you fucked her into the mattress so hard that it broke. Or did she fuck you?”

“For the last time, Pansy, there is no _she._ Potter and I were dueling, and he exploded an armchair that I was hiding behind,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “You’re being utterly ridiculous, I’m going to bed.”

“You keep your secrets then,” Pansy smirked, flouncing away to Theo’s lap. “Would you be open to ‘dueling’ soon?” she cooed.

“I’ll ‘duel’ you every day, baby,” Theo smirked. “You’ll be begging for mercy by the time our ‘dueling’ is over.”

“How about a small duel right now with our tongues?” Pansy pressed her lips to his, and he deepened the snog instantly.

“You guys are gross,” Daphne snorted, getting up. “I’m turning in too.” She still hadn’t said anything about his disheveled state and followed him to the edge of the common room wordlessly.

“I feel bad leaving you as the third wheel,” Draco muttered. It wasn’t an apology, but just a simple statement of fact.

Daphne stopped at the foot of the girls’ dormitory stairs. “It’s fine, Draco. I’d better get used to it anyways, you won’t be third wheeling with me anymore when you and Potter start going out,” she said rather cheekily before leaving a shocked Draco at the bottom of his staircase.

Draco stood there, utterly bemused. “Potter and I aren’t going to ‘go out’,” he mumbled to himself. “Sure, he’s hot, and he’s gay, but he has all the grace of a blundering dragon and the mind of a mountain troll. Plus, I…I can’t.”

_I should’ve beaten it out of you by now. I thought I had._

The echoes of his father’s voice rattled his memory, and he sighed. He climbed into his warm covers, resolutely _not_ thinking about how he’d rather have Potter’s warm arms holding him tight rather than his comforter, and how wrong that would be…but how right it would feel.


	10. Chapter 10

Given what a slimy, slithery bloke Malfoy had been for the past seven years, Harry had expected his robes to smell like dragon dung or something worse than that.

But as soon as he slipped on the warm robes, the heady, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and something else that couldn’t be described as anything other than _Malfoy_ filled Harry’s nose. The scent was still strong as he sat down on his bed alone in the dormitory, holding the robes around his body.

_This is what Malfoy smells like._

Of course, he already knew what Malfoy smelled like, but Malfoy had never smelled so goddamn _good._

He breathed in the sharp scent, sighing. He was acting like a lovesick fourth year, and a hopeless lovesick fourth year. Malfoy was most definitely straight. He and that Greengrass girl were probably getting it on somewhere. She had held his hand during the Hogsmeade trip, and she was always sitting next to him during meals in the Great Hall. You would be blind not to see it.

“Harry James Potter!” Harry winced as Hermione stormed into the boys’ dormitory. “You are _behind_ on all your homework at this very moment, yet you choose to go play Quidditch? You could’ve frozen to death out there too!”

“I didn’t go play Quidditch, Malfoy and I went up to the RoR and dueled,” Harry mumbled tiredly.

“YOU _DUELED_ INSTEAD OF COMPLETING YOUR HOMEWORK _!?”_

“Calm down, ‘Mione, at least Defense Against the Dark Arts will be an easy pass…”

Hermione swelled up like a bullfrog, ready to launch into a shrieking tirade, when Neville walked in with a stack of library books in hand. When he saw Hermione, he blanched and turned the other way, muttering something about the lavatory.

The sight of Neville seemed to defuse Hermione, and she sat down on the bed next to Harry’s, sighing. “Your education is important, Harry. More important than _dueling._ You’re here for the year, so let’s make the most of it, okay? There’s no more running off to kill You-Know-Who or thwart his plans. This is how school was supposed to be for the normal kids.”

“My life’s been anything but normal,” Harry said, chuckling mirthlessly.

“Well, let’s give normal a shot.” Hermione suddenly frowned. “Are those _Slytherin_ robes?”

“Ah, no. They’re my robes. I, er, Transfigured them. For practice. Homework,” Harry lied unconvincingly.

Hermione gave him an annoyed glance. “How dense do you think I am?” she asked.

“You’re not dense at all, you’re brilliant,” Harry said hurriedly, his stomach sinking.

“Right in one. The robes that you definitely Transfigured are a couple of inches too long for you, and they smell weird,” Hermione pointed out.

“I was, uh…stretching them, and that’s erm…Neville’s cologne,” Harry stammered. “Yeah. Neville got this new cologne from Luna, and it smells like bat bogeys, honestly, but–”

“You were stretching your robes. And Neville got new cologne from Luna.” Hermione nodded slowly, then grinned at him. “Alright, Harry.”

Harry grinned back. She somehow believed him! Hermione _was_ brilliant, there’s no denying that, but there would definitely be different types of brilliant, and Hermione did not fall under the shadow of social brilliance. “Yeah, definitely.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to sleep, it’s late,” Hermione said happily, walking towards the door. She turned around, smiling slyly. “Oh yeah, you know Daphne? She was talking about how she was sick of third wheeling Parkinson and that Nott boy with Malfoy, and she might ask someone from Ravenclaw out if he doesn’t ask her out first.”

“And you’re telling me this why?”

“Well, I wanted you to know that it’s completely fine to go and uh, find your love interest in another house. Even Slytherin. And I’ve got your back no matter what,” Hermione said. “You’ll always be my friend, Harry.”

“Er…thanks, Hermione. You’ll always be my friend too,” Harry replied lamely. He was still processing certain information.

_…she might ask someone from Ravenclaw out…_

_…sick of third wheeling with Malfoy…_

_Malfoy’s single._

The thought hit him like a ton of bricks, and he blinked. “Wait, hold up, Malfoy’s third-wheeling with Greengrass?”

“Yeah, I thought they were a thing too, but apparently, she’s…not his type.” Hermione stifled a laugh and all but ran out of the boys’ dormitory.

Harry curled up in Malfoy’s robes, inhaling the sharp scent, smiling dreamily as he drifted off to sleep. Malfoy smells good, Malfoy can be kind…Malfoy’s _single_ …

* * * * *

Harry slipped into his usual spot in the Great Hall, grinning brightly. The cheery thought of Malfoy being _single_ was all he could focus on. He had folded the other boy’s robes neatly into a pile and stuffed it in his book bag, planning to give it back to Malfoy by the end of the day. _Or longer if he doesn’t ask for them._ “Wonderful morning, Hermione.”

“Not if you’re Malfoy,” Hermione replied cryptically.

All the happiness left Harry as quickly as if a dementor had sucked his soul out. “Wha…what happened?”

“That’s the thing, no one knows,” Hermione explained in a low voice. “He was acting strange this morning according to Daphne and then he just… _collapsed.”_

“Do you reckon he got poisoned?” Harry asked, concerned. His tie suddenly seemed too tight, and he grasped at his throat.

“ _No one knows,_ ” Hermione whispered furiously. “Of course, they all think that he did get poisoned because he used to be a Death Eater, but the past is the past. Why can’t people leave the past be?” She shook her head. “Daphne’s beside herself with tears…I’m going to slip her some Pumpkin Pasties. Could you go up with me?”

“Of course,” Harry said instantly, relieved to have a ready-made excuse to visit Malfoy. They left the Great Hall and arrived at the infirmary quickly.

A sobbing Daphne greeted them. “Oh, Hermione, I was so stupid!” the Slytherin wailed. “He was acting so strange, and I didn’t realize until it was too late…”

“Shh, come on, Daph, I have food for you, but you have to come outside,” Hermione murmured, leading the blonde girl out the infirmary door gently.

Harry entered the infirmary, Madam Pomfrey’s gaze resting on him before flicking away. “Interesting to see you here,” she murmured, then raised her voice. “You have less than a minute before first bell, Mr. Potter. Make it quick.”

“Alright, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry replied. He made his way to the farthest bed, which was curtained off. His heart stuttered at the sight behind it.

Draco was lying stone-still on the cot. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, and his hair was disheveled. However, his expression was relaxed and the stress lines that usually marred his features were gone. Harry walked forward slowly, as if he were in a dream. “You look so peaceful,” he whispered softly. He reached forward and softly grazed Malfoy’s cheek with his hand. “Wake up soon. I can’t play Quidditch on my own or duel myself, can I?”

The jolt of the bell startled him, and he sighed. “I’ll be back soon. Hopefully, I won’t have to come back.” He got up, his chest aching with every step he took away from Malfoy.

“You ready, Harry?” Hermione said quietly. Harry nodded, and they set off for Charms. “How did Malfoy look?”

“Asleep,” Harry answered vaguely, his mind fixated on Malfoy’s still form. Just last night, he had been so kind to Harry, unexpectedly kind, really. His bag seemed to grow heavier with every moment as he remembered Draco’s hand touching his cheek, and how the other boy froze, and how much Harry wanted to close the small gap between them so damn badly…

He stumbled through Charms and Transfigurations, sighing with relief as the bell rang for a ten-minute relief period. He could care less about bloody Charms or Transfiguring teapots when Malfoy was sick. He rushed out of class and shot off towards the infirmary, ignoring Hermione’s calls. Once he was out of earshot, he slowed. Slughorn wouldn’t care if he was late.

_…Why bother showing up at all?_

He clutched his stomach and kicked open the infirmary door, wincing in mock pain. Madam Pomfrey bustled out from her office, eyes widening. “Another bellyache?” she gasped, clucking her tongue. “There’s probably flu going around again, it’s that time of year after all…here, I’ll go and give you a tonic to relieve the symptoms, but it’ll leave you nauseous. What class are you supposed to be in?”

“Potions,” Harry choked out, grimacing as he casually collapsed on the cot next to Malfoy’s. Pomfrey had opened the curtain since no one was visiting due to class in session, which gave him an unobstructed view of the boy lying next to him. “Thanks, Madam Pomfrey.”

“No problem, dearie. I hope there’s nothing important going on in that class since I’ll have to make you stay the period. Potions and nausea really do not go well,” Madam Pomfrey replied. Harry fought a grin as she handed him a small bottle of orange liquid. _I can stay the period!_ “Drink up, drink up.”

Harry swallowed the bottle in one gulp, wincing at the bitter taste. He knew it wouldn’t harm him if he didn’t really have a bellyache, since Hermione had researched the effects of this potion for one of her papers the other week. “I _can_ stay the period, right?”

“Yes, but don’t disturb Mr. Malfoy over there,” Madam Pomfrey said. Her eyes narrowed disapprovingly. “No one ever checks their things anymore…I’ll be in my office, Mr. Potter. If you feel the urge to vomit, call me immediately.” She walked away, still shaking her head.

“Hey, Malfoy,” Harry whispered, lying on his right side so he and Malfoy were facing each other. The faint scent of sandalwood filled his nose. He sighed, staring at the boy’s still face.

 _What am I doing here? Why am I skiving off on Potions for_ Malfoy, _out of all people?_

Malfoy groaned softly, and Harry shut up immediately, tense as he waited for Malfoy to open his eyes. But the blond boy stayed silent, and Harry relaxed, sighing again.

He certainly didn’t want to accept what he felt. Sure, Malfoy had improved. He was quiet, attentive, and was even proper to Hermione nowadays. He was still a right git though, from suddenly lashing out at Harry during Quidditch or the way he used the word _Mudblood_ …

“You’re not all that bad, are you?” he said quietly. “Maybe you hated me back then, but I like to think you don’t hate me now. I did hate you back then, but you’ve changed. You’ve grown up. I reckon you might’ve turned out alright if you hadn’t been surrounded by those twisted ideals as a child.”

He shifted on the lumpy mattress, sighing yet again. He could lie here forever, watching Malfoy sleep peacefully…

“Harry, you didn’t tell me you felt ill!” A whispered shriek roused him, and he blinked, startled. Hermione was sitting by his cot, eyes wide. “I was worried to death in Potions and I almost spilled an acid base on my hand because I thought you had been somehow taken by Dolohov and Macnair…”

“Right, because they’d just be able to slip on the grounds, take me, and leave. Maybe they’d even have time to deliver their personal greetings to McGonagall,” Harry deadpanned. Muffled laughter met his statement, and he glanced around. His stomach filled with dread at the sight of the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain standing at the infirmary door with her cronies, grinning. She waved and winked flirtatiously.

“Ignore Thomas,” Hermione muttered. “Elena Thomas, that’s her name,” she added at Harry’s quizzical expression. “They’ve been begging Madam Pomfrey to let themselves by your bedside, and she did, but they’re so loud that she’s banished them back there. It’s a wonder you didn’t wake up earlier.” She stared at him unblinkingly before reaching for his head and ripping a hair out.

“Ow, what the hell was that for?” Harry grimaced, annoyed. He sat up suddenly. “Are you making Polyjuice–”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s for Madam Pomfrey. She’s going to analyze it and see if there’s any correlation between where you’ve been and the stomach flu. _Honestly._ She told me to tell you that you can leave now. I’ll find you in a bit now that I’ve seen you’re okay, Daphne’s had another breakdown in the bathroom again even though Malfoy’s out already–”

“Wait, Malfoy’s out?” Harry gasped, but she had already scurried off. He turned so he could see Malfoy’s cot. It was indeed empty, the bedsheets thrown back carelessly. His heart sank, and he berated himself inwardly. _Stop caring, stop caring, stop caring._

Elena Thomas strolled over confidently, seizing her chance now that Hermione was gone. “Fancy some hot cocoa, Harry?” she asked, giggling as she held out a mug of steaming hot chocolate. “I made it myself, and it’s even better than the ones the elves make in the kitchen. It’ll be especially wonderful since it’s freezing out.”

“No thanks,” Harry said coldly, not up to dealing with this bullshit right now. “Kindly leave me alone, I’m tired and I’d like to sleep.”

Disappointment flashed across Elena’s face, but she smiled quickly, levitating the mug so it settled gently on Harry’s nightstand. “That’s reasonable, just be sure to try it and tell me what you think.” She swept away, her friends cackling as they exited the infirmary.

Harry rolled his eyes and _Evanescoed_ the contents of the mug away with a lazy flick of his wand. Hermione was right, as always. He’d bet every single one of his Galleons that the hot cocoa had contained a Love Potion, and he really wasn’t up to imbibing Love Potions today. Harry swung out of bed, walking out of the infirmary. He turned the corner and almost running into a solid body. “Oh, so sorry–”

“Even on your sick bed, you’ve still got girls hounding after you, Potter,” a unmistakable voice rough with sleep drawled. Harry looked up at Malfoy, and his heart leaped. Though Malfoy was coughing weakly as he leaned against the wall, he looked well-rested and _alive._

“When will they realize that they’re not my type?” Harry quipped, grinning at Malfoy.

“Once you get yourself a boyfriend, obviously,” Malfoy smirked. “I expect it’ll make front pages too. _The Boy Who Lived – His True Self Revealed.”_

“Oh? And who might this _boyfriend_ be?” Harry replied, his chest clenching under Malfoy’s piercing gaze. He avoided Malfoy’s gaze, heart pounding, as he began to tread on dangerous ground.

“I don’t know, Potter. Who might it be?” Malfoy asked softly, quietly stepping into Harry’s personal space. They were only a few centimeters apart now, and Malfoy had positioned them so they were safely in a niche where passerby wouldn’t suspect a thing. “Who? You tell me.” Harry gasped as he was suddenly drawn to Malfoy’s gaze like two magnets snapping together. Malfoy’s hand brushed Harry’s and he suddenly grasped it. There was a tingling sensation shooting up and down Harry’s hand from every single cell that touched Malfoy’s skin, and he moved his hand into Malfoy’s, fighting the urge to gasp as the same tingling sensation shot up and down his other hand. The world seemed to fade away. It was just Harry and Draco alone in the hallway, clutching each other’s hands tightly.

“So, Draco, _you_ tell me. Are girls your type too?” Harry murmured. His heart was threatening to explode from his chest, and he swallowed.

Draco seemed to fumble for words, and he blinked rapidly. “No,” he croaked out. “They’re not my type.”

The castle seemed to realize what was going on, because a sprout of green suddenly sprouted from the low ceiling and hung over their noses. “Mistletoe,” Harry said in wonder.

Draco smirked. “It must sense something’s going on–”

He never got to finish that sentence. In a sudden rush of recklessness, Harry stretched up and touched his lips to Draco’s. For a moment, they both froze, Harry surprising even himself at this _bloody stupid move_. And suddenly, Draco was moving his lips against Harry’s, and Harry couldn’t even _think_ because this was a public corridor and what if they caught and what if McGonagall came down the corridor right now or Pomfrey or Hermione…

_Fuck them._

And blissful sparks shot through every single part of his body from head to toe as he began to snog Draco back, clasping the back of Draco’s neck with his hands. He felt Draco’s hands make their way to his cheeks and hold them gently, and Harry _could not think_ because his hands were so warm and smooth and perfect and as Draco held him close, Harry felt his stomach flip-flopping inside his belly as if he were on a Muggle rollercoaster, but Draco’s kisses were keeping him from falling off, keeping him sane, keeping him alive–

Draco tore away with a gasp, eyes wild. Both he and Harry were panting. “Potter,” he breathed. “Potter…” He suddenly stiffened. “I should not have done that. I should _not_ have done that.” He backed away. “My gods…” He started to turn away.

“Wait!” Harry gasped, digging into his book bag and pulling out Draco’s robes. “Take them back.”

“ _Keep them!”_ And now Malfoy was yelling, almost _angrily._ “I don’t want anything to do with you! Stay away from me.” His fists were clenched, and Harry almost believed that it had been a dream. He hadn’t just snogged Malfoy because Malfoy was shouting at him now. It had all been a terrible dream. “Stay away from me!” he repeated.

“But–”

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!” Malfoy sounded like he was choking back tears, and he swept off at a pace almost close to running. Harry desperately wanted to chase after him, to hug him, to tell him it would be all right, but his feet were planted to the floor. As the aftershocks of their kiss wore off, his chest began to pound with dread. He stared at the mistletoe uncomprehendingly.

_What the hell did I just do?_


	11. Chapter 11

Draco stormed down the hall, feeling more and more like a bastard with every step he took. He ducked into the boys’ lavatory, swiping a few tears from his eyes.

 _You had absolutely_ no _right to leave Potter like that alone–_

And the memory of the kiss came back in full force, the famous _Harry Potter’s_ lips tentatively moving against his as they snogged under fucking _mistletoe_ like randy fifth years, and the growl that fought to escape his throat as he deepened the kiss. Harry had been weak against Draco’s body, and it had been the most marvelous kiss Draco had ever received.

None of this wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t opened the letter on his nightstand this morning. The moment he had touched it, he knew. A dark hex, not unlike the one that had been placed on the necklace given to Katie Bell in his sixth year, had been placed on it. The moment he touched it, he had felt the effects of the curse wash over him and he was helpless to its bidding.

He had fought off the curse’s effects as Aunt Bella had taught him, manipulating its emotions and using his core magic to force it out of his body. The curse was strong though, and he ended up jerkily moving around the common room as he attempted to retake control of his own body. Daphne had been watching him weirdly the entire time and was the one to take him up to the infirmary when he collapsed unconscious after it left his body. He had no doubt that it was from Dolohov and Macnair. Those with the Dark Mark had labeled him a traitorous arsehole for fighting with the light after Potter was revealed to be alive.

_I could’ve died this morning._

_Yes, you could’ve died without feeling Potter’s lips on yours, you could’ve died without ever receiving a proper snog!_

“Shut up,” he growled to himself. Potter was…complicated _._ He’d deal with Potter later.

* * * * *

“You can’t deal with Potter _later,_ you go and apologize to Potter _right this second!_ ” Daphne hissed as she sorted through her belongings in the Common Room. “Why are you telling me this now? You snogged Potter yesterday? Why didn’t you apologize after you left him? He’s going to Weasley’s for break! You can be a real insensitive git sometimes, you know–”

“I know, Daph, I know,” Draco muttered tiredly, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t know what came over me. I really…” He’d been ignoring the nightmares pricking at his skin for the past months now. Dreamless Draught wasn’t enough to keep them at bay, and the one from last night had been particularly horrible.

It was the Battle of Hogwarts all over again. Potter had tumbled out of Hagrid’s arms, but instead of running, the Dark Lord had put a full Body-Bind jinx on him. Students and teachers had watched in horror as the Dark Lord released it, smiling gleefully. Potter attempted to run but was stopped by the Cruciatus curse, his hoarse screams cutting straight to Draco’s bones. He had been among the Death Eaters watching the event, and he had felt sick to his stomach as they cackled watching Potter shake violently.

“Come, Draco,” the Dark Lord had whispered. “Give it a try. You’ve hated him for years, haven’t you?” When Draco didn’t move, the Dark Lord narrowed his eyes. “Come, boy!”

He felt his father nudge him forward roughly and he stumbled towards Potter, wincing. Potter had gazed up at him with those bloody wide eyes like a deer caught in headlights. “My Lord,” Draco had muttered, kneeling hastily.

“Cast the Cruciatus upon him, Draco,” the Dark Lord had lisped, twirling his wand between his fingers. “Make him feel the anguish and hatred that you have felt towards him during your school days.”

He couldn’t bear to look at Potter’s broken body, contorted into awful positions. “My Lord–”

“Perhaps you would like a taste of what he has endured?”

Draco swallowed. “No, my Lord.” Shutting his eyes tight, he pointed his wand at Potter. His hand was shaking so badly that he thought he might accidentally hit a Death Eater instead.

_Now wouldn’t that be a sight._

“Draco.” Lucius’ sharp hiss had made him shudder. _“Do it.”_

He had swallowed. _I’m sorry, Potter…_ “C…c… _crucio!”_

Draco had looked away as Potter began to twitch and scream. He couldn’t do this, wouldn’t do this, _stop it Draco…_

Potter stared up at him blankly, glasses askew, nose broken, face bruised. “Malfoy…” he had croaked.

“Do it again, Draco,” the Dark Lord had ordered, clearly excited. “Do it again!”

Draco looked at Potter, torn. “My Lord–”

“ _Crucio!”_ And suddenly, Draco had found himself there on the floor by Potter, but all he could think about was _pain pain pain so MUCH PAIN bones breaking heart hurting spine stretching-_

He had drawn in a gulp of air, trying to collect his thoughts. Potter’s hand had lain there centimeters away from his, dirty from all the rubble, but he had grabbed it. “Potter, Potter!” He rolled over, grabbing Potter’s head gently. “Potter!”

“And so your son reveals himself, Lucius,” the Dark Lord had said distastefully. “He’s in love with that Potter boy, isn’t he?”

“I’m not…not in love…no Potter…”

“Silence!” Draco had grasped at his throat, unable to speak. The Dark Lord’s red eyes burned into his skin. “You will die, right here, right now, with this stupid boy.”

“You loved me?” Potter had breathed, bringing himself to a sitting position. “M…Draco…”

“I got you, Potter, just hold on,” Draco had muttered, cradling Potter’s bloody head. “I got you…”

“I loved you too, Draco, I still do.” Potter had been struggling to get his words out now. “I love you…”

“If I wanted a romantic novel, I would’ve gone to Bella,” the Dark Lord had snapped. “ _Avada Kedavra!”_

The curse bathed Potter in a green light, and he collapsed into Draco’s arms. “No!” Draco had shrieked hoarsely. He was sure the entirety of the castle was screaming now but Potter was _dead_ in his arms and he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, because Potter couldn’t be dead! “Wake up, Potter, _wake up–”_

“DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY!”

He felt his cheek burn and rubbed at it gingerly. Daphne shoved her hand back in her cloak, scowling. “Ow, what was that for?” he whined.

“Not paying attention!” His friend glared at him. “If you want a chance with this boy, then you apologize before he leaves for break! Hurry!” She swore under her breath, waved her wand, and books and clothes flew into her suitcase in an orderly fashion. “You’re coming with me, come _on!”_ She practically dragged him out of the common room and into the main hall.

Potter and Granger were standing right in the middle of it, Potter’s wand flickering feebly as Granger spoke to him rapidly. As the Slytherins approached, she noticed Daphne and blinked. “Oh, Daphne and I are riding home together, we have to get a compartment now. You have to write every day, Harry! Practice what I told you! And come home for Christmas dinner!” She hugged Potter and quickly left with Daphne, the blonde shooting one last pointed glare at Draco.

The tension was palpable as the two boys averted their gazes from each other. “I’ll see you around, Malfoy,” Potter muttered as he walked by Draco.

_I loved you too, Draco, I still do…_

Draco fought back a snarl as his nightmare came back in full force. “Wait…hold up! _Potter!_ Er, are you staying at the castle for break? _”_

“Yes,” Harry replied coldly. “Don’t worry, I won’t cross your path. In fact, I’ll stay away from you as much as I can.”

“No!” Now it was Draco who was holding onto Harry’s wrist, and as he stared at Harry, he could see how hurt Harry was under his flinty glare. “ _Harry_ , I–”

“Yesterday shouldn’t have happened, and I’m sorry I did what I did,” Harry snapped. “I was under the impression that you felt the same way, but you obviously did not. I understand that you want nothing to do with me. Now good day.”

“I do feel the same way,” Draco said quietly. “I really do. I just…I’m honestly so sorry about what happened yesterday. I…I just wasn’t ready to accept how I feel…how I feel about…about blokes. I’ve been denying it from myself for the longest time.”

“You’re messing with my feelings, Draco,” Harry said quietly. “I’m so _stupid,_ you see… I don’t know why I feel this way, after all you’ve done to me, and you hate me too. That’s messed up, isn’t it?”

He looked so pained, so _fucking sad_ that Draco reached out instinctively to caress Harry’s cheek, forgetting his place. “I don’t hate you,” he whispered.

Understandably, Harry flinched away from his touch. “No…you do. You’re just…even if you like blokes, you’re confused.”

“Shut up, Potter,” Draco blurted out harshly. “I don’t hate you, not in the slightest. You’re the one who should hate me for all I’ve done to you, as you said yourself.”

“But I don’t! I…I fancy you, Draco.” Potter turned bright red. “In that way,” he added, as if to clarify that he _fancied_ Draco fucking Malfoy in _that_ way, like a goddamn first year.

Draco stared at him. _Oh dear gods._

_Harry bloody Potter fancied Draco Malfoy._

“And I…I fancy you too, Potter.” Before he knew what in Salazar’s beard he was doing, Draco blurted out words he knew he’d never be able to take back. They weren’t wrong, either. It was the truth he had been trying to ignore for far too long. He swallowed, trying to calm his racing heart. “I can’t undo what I did yesterday. I wish I hadn’t pulled away or told you to stay away from me. I’m not a good person, I know that. You should want someone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else but you,” Harry whispered. He let Draco pull him into an embrace, and Draco marveled at the way Harry fit perfectly against the curve of his chest, his cheek resting against Draco’s heart, his messy hair tickling the bottom of Draco’s chin. “No one but you,” Harry repeated. “I know it’s wrong, and you’re wrong…but I still want you.”

“People can change. I’d change for you, Potter,” Draco promised quietly. “I’d change if you’d want me.” His inner conscience was screaming at him. _THIS IS HARRY POTTER! YOUR ENEMY OF 7 YEARS, AND JUST BECAUSE HE LIKES YOU AND HE’S ATTRACTIVE AND HE’S KIND AND NICE AND–_

“I do want you, Draco,” Harry said softly, interrupting his thoughts. “Look, I know people can change. And if you can change and you don’t do what you did yesterday and you just…. you know, you’re just _you,_ then maybe we can give whatever we’re going to have a shot.”

Draco’s heart soared, his conscience howling in despair. Harry was giving him a second chance! It was a chance he didn’t deserve, and maybe they weren’t meant to be together, but _he had a second chance._ And unlike his past second chances, he’d make the most out of this one. “I won’t throw away my shot,” he murmured, taking Harry’s hand with his own and kissing his knuckles in an oddly chivalrous manner.

_Bloody hell, Draco._

Harry blushed crimson. “I…”

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?” Draco quickly dropped Harry’s hand, feeling like an absolute dunderhead. Harry was still stammering and blushing, his cheeks almost the same shade of scarlet as his tie. Both whirled around to see a frowning Professor Sprout. “I believe the Hogwarts Express left fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’m staying at the castle for break, Professor,” Harry explained. “Last minute change of plans. Malfoy and I were just, uh…”

“We were talking, Professor,” Draco put in. “Potter needs helps with his N.E.W.T.S, and I agreed to help him. It’s not like I have anything else better to do.”

Sprout’s expression softened. “Dumbledore used to say that we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Sometimes, I know we Sort too soon.” She looked at them fondly. “Make sure you get Mr. Potter acquainted with his herbs and fungi, Mr. Malfoy. It’s my understanding that he wishes to become an Auror, and Herbology is an important N.E.W.T to pass.”

“Will do, Professor,” Draco said. “Good day.”

“Good day,” Harry echoed as Professor Sprout walked away, smiling to herself. “What was that all about?”

“I know as well as you do,” Draco replied, the space between them suddenly seeming too large. “Potter…”

"It's a bad idea," Potter said suddenly. "It's a bad idea, me and you."

"If I recall correctly, you seem to be incredibly fond of bad ideas," Draco said, smirking. Potter blushed again, and Draco's smirk grew into a full-out grin.

_Beautiful boy._

And before he knew what he was doing (it was a day for not knowing what he was doing, he supposed), he closed the distance between them. His lips met Harry’s gently, and it was everything he had dreamed of and more.

Who knew that _snogging_ could feel so good? Who knew that the mere touching of lips could send want and desire to flood every cell in Draco’s body? They were kissing in the middle of the main entrance hallway, and that should’ve been enough to send Draco fleeing away or fleeing with Potter to a more secluded area.

But for once, he found that he didn’t give a fuck.

Maybe he was being the overdramatic ferret, but in that moment, he realized that Potter was probably the greatest fucking thing to ever happen to him. Draco finally found someone who liked him, who liked _him_ despite all his flaws and his past mistakes. He was never letting Potter go if he could help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know about any errors you spot! Frankly, this wasn't my best, but Draco and Harry finally got together! Don't expect things to stay too happy for long though ;) #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Also, anything you may recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling, Lin Manuel Miranda, or Jessie Nelson (for all my theater fans out there)


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> School will unfortunately but most definitely be stealing most of my time now, so please expect updates every two weeks.

Harry was making excuses to spend every possible minute in each Draco’s company. The blond was intriguing, and his usual sneering put-downs had all but disappeared. They had been replaced by genuinely funny comments and deadpan drawls. Draco still called Harry “Potter”, but Harry found that he didn’t care. It wasn’t said in the usual sneering tone, but instead had an exasperated, endearing lilt.

Harry loved it.

On a very late Christmas Eve, they were alone in the Gryffindor common room. None of the Gryffindors had stayed for the holidays. The lion ranks were at an all-time low due to the Battle of Hogwarts, and parents had wanted their children safely at home. Harry had dragged Draco to his common room, knowing that Draco would, of course, make snide remarks about the scarlet and gold decorations, but that was expected. The blond had seemed quite out-of-place when Harry had led him through the portrait hole in his emerald and silver attire, but had made himself quite at home, even lounging on the couch in front of the fireplace at one point.

A hastily-cast Tempus charm had just revealed it to be only 30 minutes until midnight, but both were wide awake, Harry working on his essays and Draco practicing his wand work. Draco was actually really smart, like _Hermione_ smart, and was patient enough to help Harry muddle along. “Second-best marks in the year, Potter,” he would brag, puffing out his chest, as he pointed out errors on Harry’s essay. “No Ravenclaw has ever beaten me.”

Harry would smile teasingly. “Only the Gryffindors, Malfoy.” Draco would mock-pout and demand an apology, and Harry would gladly apologize by snogging the shit out of him.

At the moment, Draco was scowling, his wand hand shaking as feeble white sparks flew out of his wand. Harry looked up, frowning. Draco never had trouble with a spell. “What are you trying to do?”

“The Patronus,” Draco said shortly. When Harry merely stared at him, he added, “You must think me stupid, don’t you, just because I can’t do a Patronus? Well, _Patronus Potter–”_

“I’ll teach you,” Harry cut in, shaking his head when Draco opened his mouth to argue. “It’s only fair, you’ve taught me loads the past week. And you’re not stupid, you just…the Patronus is different. It can’t be cast just because you want it to be cast. You have to think of a happy memory.”

“I _know_ the spell theory, Potter.” Draco rolled his eyes, annoyed. “I’m trying to think of a happy memory.”

“Here.” Harry stood up suddenly, moving to stand close behind Draco. _Too close,_ a small part of him wanted to say. He ignored it and slid his arm around Draco’s waist to rest his hand upon his abdomen, using his other arm to extend Draco’s.

“Hold your wand steady,” he murmured, his mind whirring with the mere proximity of Draco’s body against his.

Draco’s breath caught, and he swallowed. “Potter, how am I supposed to–”

“Think of a happy memory,” Harry whispered. A vision of Draco quietly scratching out the beginnings of an essay, eyes dark with focus and lip bitten determinedly, sprang into his mind unbidden. He pushed it away reluctantly. “Have you got one?”

Draco turned his head, his pale grey eyes meeting Harry’s, his expression unreadable. “Yes, now what?”

“Cast the incantation,” Harry instructed. “With the wand motion.”

“E… _expecto patronum,”_ Draco stammered. A few wispy sparks shot out of his wand, taking on the beginnings of a corporeal Patronus but dissipating away. He seemed to wilt, his back now resting on Harry’s chest. Harry felt his heart speed up erratically and could only hope that Draco didn’t feel that. _Goddammit Malfoy._ “Potter–”

“You almost got it,” Harry said encouragingly. “Focus on your memory, _really_ focus on it. Remember every detail, remember why you were happy!”

Draco rolled his eyes, but his face was scrunched up as he recalled the details of his memory. Harry held his breath as every muscle in Draco’s body tensed with the effort. “ _Expecto patronum!”_ Silver strands burst forward from his blackthorn wand and formed the outline of a frolicking dog. Draco pumped his fist in elation, turning around and beaming at Harry. “I did it, Harry!”

Harry fought the urge to snog him. He looked so bloody _cute_ like that, his cheeks flushed and a smile as wide as the whole fucking world. “Yes, you did it, Draco,” he murmured, grinning himself.

Draco, still smiling, squinted at the dog wagging its tail and panting excitedly. “Hold up, what the bloody hell is _that?”_

“An Irish wolfhound,” Harry replied. Draco and the wolfhound stared at him, and he shrugged. “Aunt Marge used to own one before she bred bulldogs.”

“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Draco said absentmindedly, fixated on his Patronus. It leaped forward to nuzzle him, and he half-gasped, half-shrieked in surprise and excitement, laughing softly as he stroked its head.

Harry ignored his comment and sat down in his chair again to take in Draco’s relaxed posture and carefree chuckling. The other boy looked genuinely _happy_ for once. The dark circles that normally hunted his eyes were all but gone, and his skin was a healthy pale tone, rather than a dull, ashen grey. He had no idea when these changes had come about, but he was glad to see them.

“You’re staring at me, Potter,” Draco pointed out. “I thought it was the Patronus, but now it’s gone and you’re still staring.”

Harry blinked rapidly. “Well, am I not allowed to stare at my boyfriend?” he shot back, mouth suddenly dry. _Boyfriend? Where did that come from, Harry?_

Draco crossed the short distance between them in two short strides and knelt, cupping Harry’s right cheek with his hand and holding Harry’s left hand with his other. “Are we…boyfriends?” he asked quietly, his voice cracking.

Harry averted his eyes from Draco’s piercing gaze, willing himself to _calm the fuck down_ and that just because he liked Draco didn’t mean that they were dating, and Draco Malfoy would never date someone like him anyways. “Er…sorry, um…that’s the wrong word…”

“No, Harry,” Draco cut in. “I’d love to be your boyfriend.” _Oh._ His grip around Harry’s hand tightened involuntarily, and Harry squeezed back. “But if it’s the wrong word, and I know it’s me and everyone hates me and everything and I can barely grasp that you fancy me but–”

“You absolute idiot,” Harry snapped. He grabbed Draco’s emerald tie aggressively and captured the other boy’s lower lip between his own, Draco letting out a soft whimper as this stolen kiss turned into a passionate snog. “Do you think I want to be your boyfriend?” Harry whispered between kisses.

“Potter–” They were in the common room, but they were suddenly in Harry’s shared dormitory with Neville, in front of Harry’s bed. The bed creaked as Harry pushed Draco on top of it, pinning Draco under his body, mouths still locked. Their cloaks had already been thrown off somehow, and Draco’s hand was crawling under his jumper. Harry was alight with fire. Every single inch of skin seemed to burn with Draco’s touch, and he found that he wanted _more._ “Say you’ll be my boyfriend, Potter.”

“Malfoy, I–”

“ _Say it.”_

“I’ll be your bloody boyfriend, Malfoy.” A clock chimed distantly, and they broke apart, gasping. Draco’s face was lit up like a Christmas tree, and Harry couldn’t help but share in his quiet delight. “Merry Christmas, Draco,” he murmured.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Draco murmured back. His boyfriend – _his_ boyfriend – started to reach for Harry’s belt, then paused, his eyes wide and questioning. Harry nodded, and the belt fell the floor, followed by more articles of clothing until all that lay between them was their own skin and the words that needed not be spoken.

* * * * *

Harry woke in a warm, tight embrace, and for a moment, he lay there, still. He could feel Draco’s quiet, warm breathing against his ear, and Draco’s nose nuzzled in his messy hair. His muscled arm was slung casually yet tightly around Harry’s bare torso, the Dark Mark visible against his pale skin. During their time together, Draco had admitted wanting to cut open the Mark again, his face pained and tone somber. Harry had held him close, not pitying Draco, but sharing his pain.

Draco, in some ways, had walked a more difficult path than Harry had. Harry had been surrounded by the light all his life. Draco had to pull away from the seductive lure of the dark to walk with the light, and even in the light, he was still branded one with the dark because of the blemishes on his skin.

However, to Harry, it didn’t matter what marks Draco bore. Unlike last night, where Draco’s touch sent sparks and shivers through Harry’s nerves, his touch seemed to be comforting yet protective. Harry breathed in, Draco’s musky, heady scent flooding his nose.

“Harry,” Draco mumbled, and Harry tensed, thinking he had woken the other boy up. But no, Draco was only sleep talking. Carefully, he shifted so that he was facing Draco. Draco’s face was so relaxed during sleep. Only now had Harry realized how tense Draco was during the daylight hours. His heart went out to the boy beside him – yes, they were eighteen, Draco was still a boy. He had experienced more than any boy should’ve and had emerged alive.

Draco’s eyes slowly slid open, and he immediately shifted away when he saw how close Harry was to him. “Potter, what…” He shifted onto his back, taking in the scarlet four-posters and golden lions that adorned the walls, clearly confused. Realization struck him, and Harry saw it on his face as Draco smiled gently and snuggled back into the covers. “Good morning, Malfoy.”

“Morning, Potter.” Harry barely had time to breathe before Draco captured Harry’s lips between his own. However, he pulled away quickly. “Ugh, you have terrible morning breath.”

“You’re one to talk,” Harry retorted, but not harshly.

Draco rolled out of bed, yawning and stretching. “I’m going to brush my teeth and shower, Potter. I don’t mind being dirty with you, but I have to clean up myself, you know?” Leaving a blushing Harry behind, he slipped into the loo.

After both boys had cleaned up, they decided to skip eating. Harry’s stomach grumbled in protest, but it was already 4 in the afternoon (“We slept through breakfast _and_ lunch!” Draco had exclaimed, horrified) and Christmas dinner was going to be soon. The couple decided to lounge on Harry’s bed, Draco wearing nothing but a borrowed pair of Harry’s sweatpants, hair slightly damp from his shower. The scars from Harry’s _Sectumsempra_ curse during their sixth year were on full display, and Harry winced as they flexed with Draco’s pale torso.

“You don’t need to feel so bad about them, you know,” Draco said quietly. “Like I said when you were in the Slytherin dormitory all those months ago, the past is in the past.”

A gnawing, heart wrenching pain was tearing at Harry’s heart, and he swallowed. “I do feel bad about them. You can’t stop me from not feeling bad about them.”

“I deserved them anyways. I was awful to you, I led Death Eaters into the castle, I betrayed my peers and my teachers and everyone–”

“If I can’t feel bad about giving you those scars, you can’t feel bad about what you feel you deserved when you received those scars,” Harry interjected roughly.

Draco’s mouth opened slightly to speak, but he shut it, blinking. “Potter, do you like arguing with people?”

“No, but I need to argue with you about this.” Harry ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Why can’t you see–”

“Good, because I don’t either. I much prefer doing other things, like snogging you.” Draco leaned forward to take Harry’s face into his hands and Harry gladly accepted him, his tongue intertwining with Draco’s in a dance that was so familiar yet so lovely and wonderful and beautiful and absolutely _his–_

“Ahem.” They broke apart, cheeks flushed, to see a familiar face.

“Hermione?” Harry croaked out, blinking rapidly. He couldn’t quite believe that his best friend was standing in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory entrance, arms crossed, an amused expression lighting up her features. Harry desperately reached for a blanket, a shirt, _anything_ to cover up their exposed torsos. He had been shirtless in front of Hermione before, but this…this was different. This seemed so _intimate._ “What are you doing–”

“You were supposed to meet me at the front gates at 5,” Hermione stated patiently. “So I could Apparate you to the Burrow for Christmas dinner.” She checked her watch. “I’ll, uh, be at the main entrance. Take your time.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Harry? Ginny’s bringing Luna as…as a friend.” And with that, she was gone.

Harry turned to Draco. The blond’s eyes were almost comically wide with disbelief, anger, and embarrassment. “You never told me…I didn’t know…”

“Hermione won’t tell,” Harry said quietly. “She would never.”

Draco paused, then nodded curtly. “Well, you’d better get going then. I’ll see you around.”

His frosty tone threw Harry off, and he frowned. “What are you talking about? You’re coming with me.”

“Excuse me? I’m not going to the Weasels’ pigsty for Christmas dinner,” Draco snapped. “I said, _I’ll see you around.”_

“Look, Malfoy.” Harry grabbed Draco’s arm as he reached for a shirt. “No. You’re coming with me.” His expression softened. “Mrs. Weasley would love to have you.”

“I’m not going to eat anything his fat oaf of a mother cooked,” Draco sneered, the passionate boyfriend gone and the angry ferret back. He was almost unrecognizable from the boy who had been snogging Harry fiercely earlier. “And I’m certainly not going even close to the Mud…Mu–”

“Don’t call her that!” Harry was screaming, his wand somehow finding its way into its hand. He clutched it reflexively, not knowing where all this anger was coming from. All he knew is that he was just so _angry_ with Draco for being like this and ruining everything. “Fine then! Go back to Mummy and Daddy and…oh wait…”

“Don’t talk about them!” And Draco was screaming too. “Don’t you _dare_ speak of them like…like…” He stopped short, panting slightly.

Harry stared at him. “Where did we go wrong just now, Draco?” he whispered.

A lone tear trickled down Draco’s pale cheek. “I want to go,” he admitted softly, his voice cracking. “I really do. But they know who I am and what I’ve done. I’d rather be alone than have to deal with their judgement–” He suddenly started to cry in earnest, falling into Harry’s warm embrace.

Harry held Draco in his arms awkwardly, not quite knowing what to say, only planting soft kisses in his boyfriend’s hair. “The Weasleys aren’t like that. Well, only Ron, but Ron’s an idiot, you know?”

“And what will they say when they see me with…with you?” Harry felt himself clutch Draco’s body tighter, not wanting to think about his Weasleys-being-homophobic theory. “What will they think?”

“They will think,” Harry said slowly. “That you are brave for coming. And that you are brave for living.”

Draco smiled tightly. “You really think so?” His gray eyes were wide and full of emotion and just so _hopeful_ that Harry felt his resolve and all his misgivings crack ever so slightly. He would be proud to have Draco at his side, as a friend for now, and maybe later, the truth would be set free. “Harry?” Draco prodded.

“Of course.”

And five minutes later, they were hastily dressed and Apparated to the Burrow by Hermione. A red-headed streak came barreling towards him, and a second later, he was in Ron’s arms. “You came! I didn’t think you would come, I thought you were spending the holidays at the castle for who knows _what_ reason…”

“I’m here now,” Harry said, grinning at the ginger.

Ron suddenly noticed Malfoy, and his warm expression disappeared. “What’s this bloke doing here?” he asked coldly.

“He’s eating dinner, Hermione’s gone off to tell your mother,” Harry said just as coldly.

“Overkill, mate,” Ron muttered, walking inside the house. “Come on in, I guess,” he called over his shoulder.

Harry looked at Draco questioningly, the blond already looking uncomfortable. His hand reached for Harry’s, and they grasped each other tightly, comfort and reassurance and all the little things said in that simple movement. “You got this,” Harry encouraged, Draco nodding, as they set off for the welcoming lights of the Weasley household.

_Nothing will go wrong tonight._

_I won’t let it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was desperate to get this chapter out after a long wait for everyone so please let me know if there are any errors :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I listened to the entirety of Taylor Swift’s Reputation last Tuesday for the first time, and I know I’m late by 3 years, but damn I’ve been missing out! I can’t help but think of our favorite two boys thinking of each other as Dancing with Our Hands Tied plays in the background :) hope you enjoy!

Draco stood in the kitchen, unsure of himself, as a flurry of redheads busied themselves getting ready for a feast. The mother was cooking at least five different things at once, her attention divided between biscuits, a savory-looking stew, turkey, cranberry sauce, and roast potatoes, levitating pots and pans flew from one end of the table to another. Harry walked up to her and she beamed, hugging him tightly. They exchanged a few words before he smiled at Draco and disappeared upstairs. The Weaselette caught his gaze as he stood awkwardly in the center of it all, not knowing what to do. She beckoned him over with a sharp jerk of her head. He reluctantly made his way over, wishing he hadn’t promised Harry before they Disapparated that he wouldn’t do hex anyone.

Lord, he’d do _anything_ for that boy, and they’d only been together for a week.

“What are you doing here?” the Weaselette muttered, setting placemats on the well-worn wooden dining table.

“H-Potter made me come.” Draco avoided her glare, just as piercing and judgmental as it was on their first day on the Hogwarts Express.

“ _Gemino,_ ” she murmured softly, duplicating the last placemat and setting them next to each other. “You better sit next to each other then,” she added brusquely. Draco stared after her, not knowing what _that_ was all about, but he found that he did not give a single fuck about what the Weaselette, or anyone else for that matter, thought of him.

Harry was here, and that’s all that mattered.

“Food coming!” the mother – what should he call her? Molly? He couldn’t keep calling her the mother – said loudly, levitating full dishes to the dining area. She nodded at Draco, smiling warmly, and he smiled back a bit bemusedly. The redheads all tumbled into the dining area and took their respective seats around the table, laughing and shouting and poking each other. They were wearing shabby, slightly faded clothing, but they looked happier than Draco and his family had ever looked in their expensive robes. He suddenly felt overdressed, absentmindedly rubbing the cuff of his plain dress shirt with his thumb.

“Come on, Draco,” Harry whispered, guiding him to his seat. Draco felt his heart leap at the sight of his boyfriend, then admonished himself for feeling so belated at the sight of his messy-haired angel.

 _Calm your arse, he’s not_ yours. _He’ll never be yours._

As redheads poked and teased and laughed at one another, thoughts careened through his brain and smashed together into one terrible conclusion – _this_ tight-knit family was what Potter had given up to spend the winter holidays with him. Potter would’ve had loads more fun and warmth here than with a former Death Eater. His undeserving heart started to erratically surge forward again, and he winced. His chest was going to fucking explode any moment now.

“You good?” Harry asked quietly. His gorgeous emerald eyes were just so warm and honest and _beautiful_ that Draco didn’t trust himself to do anything besides nod in assent, or he would snog the fuck out of Potter in front of everyone at the dinner table. For the time that he and Harry were together, he’d be damned if he weren’t the luckiest fucking ferret in the world.

They sat around the table, Harry on Draco’s left and one of the twins on the right. He noted Granger at the far side, next to Weasley, of course. Fleur Delacour was here, surprisingly, her arm around one of the oldest Weasleys, and she was grinning at him like a lovesick mooncalf. _Were they married?_ Lovegood and the Weaselette sat on the other side of Delacour, huddled together like two peas in a pod.

It hit him all at once. Granger had mentioned the Weaselette was being a _friend,_ and didn’t Pansy say he had heard them snogging in the lavatory once? He frowned, not knowing what to make of all this new information. “Is that why you and the Weaselette broke up?”

Harry blinked. “What?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Because you’re both gay. You and the Weaselette.”

“Ginny’s not gay…” Harry caught Lovegood’s eye from across the table, and she winked, leaning on the Weaselette’s shoulder. The Weaselette snaked an arm around her shoulder, sighing. Draco felt the urge to gag at the display of affection, then reddened as he remembered how very affectionate he and Harry had been last night. Beside him, he noticed Harry tense and nod jerkily. “I didn’t know that.”

“I see,” Draco replied, swallowing and reaching for Harry’s hand under the table. He felt Harry clutch it, his touch spending warmth up Draco’s arm.

The head of the Weasley clan took his seat heavily, and the table quieted. “We observe this holiday day to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, and we thank Him for another year that we are all together.” His voice was quiet yet assertive, and Draco felt a pulse of admiration against his will for the way his tired voice commanded a room. “We trust Him to take care of the ones we have lost, our family members and our friends, and when we leave this earth, we trust Him to take care of us.” He stopped speaking, and they observed a moment of silence before he lifted his gaze. “Dig in!”

It was chaos. Hands flew everywhere, ladling stew onto their plates and slicing off pieces of turkey. Harry grinned at Draco. “Come on, you have to hurry, or there won’t be any roast potatoes left.”

Draco reached for the ladle tentatively, only for his hand to be knocked aside by George’s. “You have to be faster, Malfoy,” George smirked, clucking his tongue disapprovingly. “Put away those proper manners of yours and let loose for a night.”

Draco rolled his eyes, but when the biscuits came around, he couldn’t help but grin as he stole a biscuit right under George’s outstretched hand, and George beamed at him. “You’re getting the hang of this, mate,” he said jovially, clapping Draco on the back.

That small gesture sent Draco’s confidence soaring, and he beamed back at George. When all the food had disappeared from the plates, they started to eat and talk. The atmosphere was cozy and warm, and despite Draco feeling out of place before, he felt decidedly more comfortable as he hooked his foot around Harry’s and enjoyed the food. A couple of the older Weasleys at the other side of the table were sporting earrings and tattoos, so different from the prim and proper people he had grown up with. “Mum,” he could hear one of them complaining clearly. “I like my hair long. Let it be.”

“It’s so…awful!” the mother fussed, running a hand through her son’s long locks as he winced.

“Mum, let him be,” the Weasley who had Delacour wrapped around him like a necklace said. “He’s old enough to make his own decisions "now.” Their mother shook her head disapprovingly but looked away and took a bite of sprouts.

Across from them, Lovegood was going off about some new species she and her father had discovered while the Weaselette stared at her with a look of such blatant adoration that Draco fought the urge to gag on his turkey. Granger and the twin next to Draco were singing some Muggle Christmas song while the Weasel looked on in lovestruck horror. “ _Make my wish come true…all I want for Christmas_ _is youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu,”_ Granger pronounced, pecking Weasley on the forehead fondly.

“It’s time to make our escape,” Harry whispered. “Come on.” Draco wanted to protest Harry’s decision, but he found himself very sleepy and warm in Harry’s gaze.

Harry tapped the twin on the shoulder. “George, Draco and I are going back. I left the presents upstairs and Hermione already gave me all my presents from everyone.”

“Alright, mate, have a safe night, and make sure you use protection,” George replied, winking. Draco saw Harry blush crimson and knew the same look was mirrored on his own face.

As they quietly exited through the back screen door, Harry sighed, slipping his hand into Draco’s. “That wasn’t so bad now, was it?”

“It made me think about a lot of things,” Draco replied. It had made him think about how _goddamn lucky_ he was to hold Harry Potter’s fucking hand with his own right now.

“Good or bad?”

“Good.” Draco glanced upwards. “Oh, there’s a shooting star.”

“That’s wonderful,” Harry murmured, gazing up towards the sky as a bright streak hurtled towards the earth. It disappeared behind the trees, and suddenly, Harry was snogging Draco roughly yet tentatively. “If I may?” he whispered.

“As if you ever need to ask, you bloody prick,” Draco growled as their stolen snog threatened to explode into something more. Who needed shooting stars when the brightest light in the world was right in front of him?

* * * * *

They eventually Disapparated back to the Hogwarts gates after their brief but heated snogging session, Draco letting them in with a complicated flick of his wand. “Snape taught me,” he replied simply.

“Of course he bloody well did,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I’m not complaining though, it wouldn’t be good to be caught by Filch or McGonagall at this hour.”

“Well, we’d better hurry then,” Draco muttered as they ran towards the front entrance. “We wouldn’t want to be caught out of bed either.”

They arrived in the main entrance in record time, both panting slightly. “We better hope that the staircase to the dorms hasn’t moved,” Harry whispered. “Come on, _come on–”_ Hurtling around the corner, the staircase that would lead the Gryffindors to their dorms was gone. “Fuck!” he muttered.

“We could go to the Slytherin dorms–” Draco suggested.

“No, come on. It’s going to the Astronomy tower right now, and no one ever goes to the tower at night,” Harry whispered, surging forward.

_Not the fucking Astronomy tower._

Draco stumbled after him, having no choice, and they sped up the staircase. Both suddenly stopped as it started to groan and move.

“Bloody hell,” Draco whined as they ran forward again to try and catch the landing before the staircase shifted completely. “Stupid goddamn castle.”

“Hurry up,” Harry panted as they neared the top, lunging forward and jumping to the tower entrance just in time. They lay in a tangled heap at the bottom of the tower, their bodies slick with sweat yet adrenaline pumping through their veins.

“Well, we can’t just sit here now, can we?” Draco muttered. “Let’s go.” Holding onto each other, they started climbing the steps to the top of the tower. Draco felt himself tense more and more with every step they took, not trusting himself to keep his shit together once they got to the top. He would absolutely lose it if he went ballistic in front of Potter.

It was so much worse than he thought it would be.

The memories came flashing back towards him, and he fell, seeing Dumbledore falling from the top again and again and _fucking again–_

_Carrows laughing–_

_Bellatrix screaming and Grayback howling–_

_Snape, green lights flashing, falling from the sky–_

“I see it too, Draco,” Harry said quietly. His hand was clammy against Draco’s, though Draco was sure it was his sweat too. “But that was the past.”

“That’s the past, Potter. How could you ever want someone with a past like mine?” he choked out, feeling unworthy and small.

“Shh, let me tell you something,” Harry soothed, casting a Cushioning charm at the inner edge of the tower. They both collapsed on the floor, tired and sweaty. That didn’t stop Draco from scooting Harry into the spot on his chest where Harry fit perfectly, as if his head was made for the valleys on Draco’s torso.

“When I was out camping with Hermione and Ron when we were hunting You-Know-Who, we’d have to keep watch over the camp at night so that we’d be safe,” Harry began.

“If you’re going to regale me with tales of your glorious adventures, Potter–”

“Just listen,” Harry whispered, his voice breathy and pleading all at the same time. Draco quieted, because how could he say no to that? “When it was my turn to keep watch, I’d…I’d watch the stars, and sometimes the stars would fall. When the stars would fall, something good was going to happen. It was just this feeling, and I…I don’t know. I never shared it with Hermione because she thinks Divination’s wooly and this is much like divination, and Ron…well, this isn’t Ron’s thing.” Harry frowned, looking up at Draco. “You probably think I’m crazy, but it’s true. The stars fell from the sky the night before we broke into Gringotts, and we all escaped a bit worse for wear but we’re here, aren’t we?”

“I remember that,” Draco recalled, running a hand through the messy brown hair that he so adored. “The whole school was in upheaval. The Carrows had never been so furious, and Snape had to stop them from _Crucio-_ ing the whole place.”

“Did they hurt you?” Harry asked quietly, his body tensing. “The Carrows? Because I swear to fucking–”

“They wouldn’t dare hurt a Slytherin, especially the son of such wealthy, influential Purebloods who were Death Eaters to boot,” Draco interrupted bitterly. Despite his tone, he felt warm and tingly inside, because Potter _cared._ About _him!_

_Who knew this is where we would be?_

“Good,” Harry whispered, all malice gone as he snuggled against Draco’s chest. “And tonight, before we left the Burrow, you saw a star fall. And I knew then that being with you is the best thing in the world I could’ve asked for.” He blinked drowsily, yawning. “G’night, love.”

_Love? Did he just–_

But Harry was fast asleep, snoring softly. Draco was suddenly very glad that they had the presence of mind to cast a Cushioning charm earlier because there was no way in hell he had enough energy to cast one now. He let his eyes droop and the turmoil of thoughts subside as the warmth of Harry carried him into the arms of sleep, even though he would’ve been content staring at the angel between his arms forever.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh it’s still Sunday in my time, but I’m so sorry for the updates that are getting later and later. School is unsurprisingly eating into much of my time. Thank you to those who review, they make my day <3  
> A shorter chapter today, but it’s fluffy and hopefully it’ll cushion our boys’ fall from their happy place – it’ll get worse before it gets better.

“Hermione’s going to be so happy, I finished all my essays,” Harry said, sighing contentedly from his position in Draco’s arms. They were snuggled in the Gryffindor common room after a particularly long work session interrupted by several make out sessions, cuddled on one of the couches. The ancillary staff left them alone for the most part since they ordered meals to the Gryffindor common room, and the house elves were more than happy to oblige their wishes. It was the most terrific Boxing Day he’d ever had.

He sent another round of thanks to whatever god was up there that all the Gryffindors had gone home, and he had the common room and Draco all to himself. “Hey, we have no more work for the rest of the holidays, since we finished all our essays!”

Draco scoffed, his eyes closed. “I wrote all my essays, and half of _yours_.”

“Well, that’s between us, isn’t it?” Harry murmured, blinking fondly at his – _his! –_ boyfriend. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You did without me for seven years,” Draco deadpanned before sighing. “I wish I weren’t such a cantankerous prat. Maybe you would’ve taken my hand that day.”

“You’re still a cantankerous prat,” Harry teased. “And the past is the past, I like it just fine where we are right now.” He snuggled further into Draco’s chest as if to prove his point.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do too,” Draco whispered, and Harry could almost see that familiar, beautiful smile spread across his features.

They lay in silence for a while. “So, you’re afraid of pigeons?” Draco murmured.

Harry felt his heart start to erratically speed up and his cheeks start to burn. _Oh gosh._ “Erm…no, that’s stupid, where did you hear that from?”

“From Granger,” Draco smirked. “She wouldn’t lie.”

“And when did Hermione tell you that?” Harry asked angrily.

“Uh, around,” Draco answered vaguely, chuckling as Harry scowled and poked him. “It’s just adorable, Potter. You saved the Wizarding World on your own and everything, but you’re afraid of _pigeons?”_

“Pigeons over Voldemort any day,” Harry retorted.

Draco stiffened around him. “Don’t. Say. His. Name,” he spat.

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered softly. “I know that–”

“Just don’t say his name,” Draco muttered. “I…I’m still afraid of bloody You-Know-Who, and you know, some of us don’t have hearts of gold, _Saint Potter–”_

“That's completely reasonable.” Harry shifted into a more comfortable position, which, naturally, meant more of his body touching Draco's. _As if that was bloody possible._ “But are you afraid of...” He paused, smirking. “...I don't know, hippogriffs?”

“You prat!” Draco yelled, pushing Harry off him in mock anger, but laughing. “No, I'm afraid of spiders.”

“Pft, spiders?” Harry grinned widely. _Oh, this was too good._

“Yeah, spiders,” Draco repeated somewhat defensively. “They’ve got creepy legs, and their eyes, and…” He shuddered.

“They’re not so bad, really, they turned up dead in my cupboard loads,” Harry remarked off-handedly.

“Cupboard? Is that the new word for mansion?” Draco sniped, pouting slightly as he pulled Harry next to him again, running a hand through messy brown hair. Draco was especially fond of doing that for whatever reason, but Harry wasn’t complaining. “What cupboard?”

Harry stared up at him, bemused, before the realization hit him. Draco knew him better than most, but Harry had never talked about his childhood with Draco. It wasn’t common knowledge either, unlike most of Harry’s life. “It’s nothing, really,” he backpedaled. “Just something from my childhood–”

“I’d love to hear about your childhood,” Draco whispered, his hand idly drifting down Harry’s neck. “What was the childhood of the Boy-Who-Lived like?”

Harry blinked. “Oh no, I never talk about it anymore, you see…”

Draco snorted derisively. “I’m not Rita Skeeter, Harry, I won’t spill your secrets.” His hand found its way into Harry’s, and he clutched it, reveling in the warmth.

“I’m not worried about that, I trust you…fine,” Harry conceded, sighing as Draco clasped Harry’s hands with both of his own. “My mother’s sister, Aunt Petunia, and her husband, Uncle Vernon, raised me.”

“So they knew how your parents died then, and that they had to protect you,” Draco concluded.

“Oh, they knew how my parents died,” Harry muttered, the nostalgic bitterness rising in his throat. “I grew up not knowing I was a wizard though. They told me my mother and father died in a car crash. They wanted to squash the magic out of me and make me ‘normal’. Of course, I had my adventures with accidental magic, and I got locked in the cupboard for weeks since that happened often enough.”

“You got locked…in a cupboard? For weeks?” Draco’s gaze went from tender to horrified. “As a child?”

“I slept in the cupboard,” Harry said so emotionlessly that Draco chuckled softly, then quieted as he realized that his boyfriend wasn’t joking. “It was my bedroom up until my first Hogwarts letter.”

“You…you slept in a cupboard?” Draco choked out. His eyes were wide and the expression on his face would’ve been comical had the topic not been so serious.

“It was actually the nicest part of the house, even though there were loads of spiders,” Harry replied. “Better than any part that Dudley had walked in.” He smiled fondly. “Ah, I remember Dudley. He was my cousin, and he was a right pig, but he turned out alright at the end. Kind of surprising he was okay, really, they gave him anything he wanted, from food to games to toys to tellies–”

“What are tellies?” Draco interjected. “I’ve never head of a telly before. But it doesn’t matter, go on.”

“It’s television?” Harry replied. When Draco only stared back at him blankly, he went on. “It’s a Muggle thing that you can watch, er, the news and shows on. Anyways, yeah, they gave him whatever he wanted. Including the rights to shove me around. That was a bonus since they hated me too.”

Draco could only listen, appalled, as Harry continued. “I grew up as Dudley’s personal punching bag until I got my first Hogwarts letter. I remember Uncle Vernon couldn’t stop the letters from coming, they went down our chimney and got poked in through the cracks under doors and through windows. So he grabbed the whole family and we went out to this hut on a rock where it was cold and stormy. He thought the letters couldn’t reach me there. Of course, they were wrong, and Hagrid kicked down my door that evening to take me away.”

“So that’s why you were always fond of that big oaf,” Draco mused. He sighed softly. “I feel horrid about how I treated him, you know. He was just like any of us, trying his best to survive. Just because he’s half-giant doesn’t make him any weaker.”

Harry cracked a small grin. “Who are you, and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?”

“Sod off, Potter,” Draco said, scowling as Harry cracked a grin. “I’m serious.”

“You’re amazing, Draco,” Harry said absentmindedly. “I…I love you.”

_Shit._

The room was painstakingly silent, the only sound breaking the silence was the low crackling of the fire. _Holy shit, I hope he didn’t hear that, oh my god what if he heard it I’m fucked oh my god I really really hope he didn’t hear that–_

“Oh,” Draco finally said. “Well, I think it’s too early for that and all–”

“Yeah, I agree,” Harry cut in, the erratic thumping inside his ribcage threatening heart failure. “Definitely. Sorry.” He had never hated silence more.

“Oh, there’s an owl,” Draco said, the relief evident in his voice as he got up and strode to the window, cracking it open. “Archimedes, you look terrible!”

“Your owl’s name is Archimedes?” Harry asked as Draco closed the window and a tawny owl flew in, landing on the table and immediately starting to preen its bedraggled wings.

“Yes, so?” Draco replied. “Damn you, Archimedes, give me two seconds to remove the letter!” He finally wrestled the letter from his owl, wrenching it open.

“What?” Harry tensed as Draco’s eyes slowly widened. “Draco–”

“I need to go back to the Manor,” Draco said softly. He stared at his letter, expression unreadable.

“What’s going on?” Harry questioned.

Draco looked at him, but he wasn’t really looking at Harry. His eyes were far away, and he suddenly looked like he had borne a thousand years’ worth of pain and he was about to bear a thousand more. “I suppose you’ll see why in the Prophet tomorrow, Potter.”

“I’ll…I’ll go with you,” Harry blurted out. “I don’t mind going to the Manor.”

“I have to go alone,” Draco muttered, gaze snapping back to focus. “I’ll…I’ll see you around.”

“Draco!” Harry got up, suddenly angry, and grabbed Draco’s wrist. Draco snapped his wrist back towards him, and they were back on the Quidditch pitch, and Harry could feel Draco’s quiet yet ragged breathing against his cheek, and he could see Draco’s stormy gray eyes than threatened to spill over any moment, and his cheeks were slightly flushed and his mouth was parted slightly in shock and Harry didn’t know what else to do but close the gap between them with his lips. Draco kissed back hurriedly yet thoroughly, and they were locked together in a blissful little bubble, but Draco suddenly pushed Harry back, gasping. And that hurt Harry more than he would ever admit. “I’m sorry,” Harry repeated. “For grabbing your wrist.”

“You should be,” Draco repeated back. He picked up his wand slowly, Vanishing his papers. “I need to go.” Sensing Harry’s stricken expression, he looked up again. “It’s not your fault, Potter. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have done this, put you in this position. It’s all my fault!” His last words were almost a deranged scream, and he pulled his cloak tighter around him and swung the portrait open, slamming it shut behind him.

Harry stared blankly at the backside of the portrait. He could hear the Fat Lady screaming at Draco, but he found that he didn’t care. His heart had sunk into the depths of his stomach, and his vision was blurring. He collapsed onto the couch that he and Draco had just shared, the tears spilling over and the fucking misery that felt like it might just rip his heart out of his chest.


	15. Chapter 15

_You’re the worst fucking person in the world, and you know it._

The soft pat-pat of his shoes on the marble floor seemed to mock his presence as he strode down the entrance hall and into the library, where he was supposed to go. No matter what anyone said, this desolate dwelling was _not_ his home. Every fiber of his being loathed being back, where people had been tortured and beaten and raped and killed. Screams and howls of pain ghosted the residency everywhere he went.

He would resolutely _not_ think of the state he had left Potter in, and the perpetual guilt he had associated with any longing thoughts of Potter. Potter would do him no good here.

“Ah, Draco. I see you got my letter.” The slow, familiar drawl made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as he entered. “Come, boy. I was most displeased to see that you weren’t here when I arrived home.”

Draco stood stock-still in the doorway. “I was spending the holidays at Hogwarts.”

“Of course,” his father said softly, turning around in the upholstered swivel chair. His father’s appearance was far from the usually immaculate façade he carried. His skeletal figure was dwarfed by the plush chair, and his gaunt features portrayed the harshness of Azkaban quite well. Draco now felt sick to his stomach looking at the man he once admired more than anything else in the world. “You are a _Malfoy,_ Draco. You will no longer need to rely on that school _._ Though I do have to admit, it is nice that we are getting to meet our old… _friends_ together.”

“W…what friends?” Draco stammered. He wished that the instantly familiar shapes that came out of the darkness were his eyes forming tricks on him.

Macnair looked as leery as ever, dressed in a high-collared shirt, his dark hair impeccable. “It’s good that he went back, Lucius. He can tell us all about those stupid Gryffindors. The ginger buffoon, his pet Mudblood, and Potter – they should all be _dead,_ and I plan to do it this year.”

Dolohov grinned lasciviously from his position. “Maybe I can have a go with the whore before you do away with her.”

Macnair scowled at him. “You don’t want used goods, do you? Plus, she’s a _Mudblood.”_

“Mudblood or not, she will be _mine,”_ Dolohov snarled. “That bitch caused me a whole lot of pain, and I’ll be damned if I don’t get my revenge.”

 _You’d be damned either way,_ Draco thought, deadpan. A sudden rush of hope came to him. If these bastards had escaped… “Where’s Mother?”

“Don’t be an idiot, boy,” his father snapped. “You think that we would’ve helped your mother escape? Not after she helped that _Potter_ , and right under the Dark Lord’s nose too!”

“That bitch deserves to rot in Azkaban until the end of her days,” Dolohov added. “She’s a traitor to us.” He grinned as Draco fought to keep his expression impassive. He felt his heart ache for his mother, his mother who had cared for him albeit indirectly, who had doted on him as a small child and held him in her arms when he cried. “My daughter’s in third year, surely you’ve seen her around. My dear Samantha…you’ll have no need for another lady in your life when you get her.”

His father rose an eyebrow. “I thought I was to have the girl when she visits this summer?”

Draco wished he could run out of the room. His father was asking to do a girl when he was married and more than twice her age and she wasn’t even _of_ age…and the girl’s father was completely okay with it. “I–”

“You two can share,” Dolohov said dismissively. “At least, until I find her a proper husband. But if your son would like to court her and he’d be willing to let you two keep prior arrangements, that could work too. Maybe you’d even let me give her a try.” He chuckled to himself, clearly enjoying the thought of his dark designs.

“Me too!” Macnair protested. “If you’re letting that git go at her, I deserve a go as well!” He looked quizzically at Draco, who fought the urge to vomit right where he stood.

“Shut it, boys.” Her voice caused them all to turn, at attention. Draco could not believe his ears for a second, and his heart began to pound wildly. He really was at imminent risk of vomiting now. _No, no…it couldn’t be…she’s dead, I saw her die, split into a million pieces at the end of an unfriendly wand…_ Yet there she was. Like her other comrades, she looked a lot worse for wear in a shapeless, ragged dress and heels five inches shorter than the usual, but those half-lidded eyes and sultry tone were all too familiar.

Bellatrix Lestrange tucked a thin strand of dark hair behind her ear. “You can all have Dolohov’s daughter later,” she purred. “But first, we have quite a bit of work to do.”

* * * * *

Draco lay awake. He was never able to sleep in his own blasted bed at the family estate, but what had happened today was going to torment him forever. He’d be lucky if he ever slept again.

Aunt Bella had bragged endlessly of her ingenious plan of coming alive again, enlisting the help of her former master to create her own tool and be reborn again. “He trusted me, and that Potter brat, the blood traitor, and the Mudblood filth managed to kill him!” she had shrieked, more deranged than ever.

Dolohov had frowned. “How did you come back to life? I only know of one way, and that requires Dark magic beyond the skills of most.”

“My skills _are_ beyond the skills of most,” she had whispered, cackling. “It was painful, but it was worth it. I shall avenge him by putting every single piece of dirty blood in this world to rest! They deserve to die _painfully,_ and I shall be glad to kill every single one of them.” She glared at her audience. “We will rebuild what our Lord had started, but this time, we will succeed.”

Of course, no one would tell Draco what this dark magic was, and all four older adults had cast him amused glances when he had asked. “So pitifully naïve, but he will be perfect,” his aunt had said, running a hand through his hair. “We do not need much, Draco. Just listen like the good boy you are.”

They had gotten drunker and drunker on his father’s fine wine, regaling tales of the Death Eater revels and of what they would do in a new society. Finally, after a drunken Macnair had tried to paw at Bellatrix and she had Crucio’d him into a stupor, they decided to retire for the night.

Draco sighed. He had no idea what the bloody _fuck_ was going on and could already tell that it was going to be worse than the shitshow under the Dark Lord’s dictatorship, if that was even possible. At least then, he held out hope that three Gryffindors would somehow assassinate the Dark Lord and take out everyone important under him in the process with whatever information Dumbledore had told them.

Now, all the information Potter would get about this would be from Draco. That is, if he’d ever talk to Draco again.

_I miss him._

“Goddammit!” he whispered angrily, pushing himself into a sitting position. He reached for his wand, attempting a simple Warming charm, but his hand was too shaky. In a feeble attempt to coax some warmth into his bones, he wrapped his arms around his frame, hugging himself.

_I wish you were here to hug me instead._

It didn’t help that despite the frigid temperatures, he was sleeping in only a worn T-shirt (a scarlet one too, no doubt) that was definitely not Potter’s and shorts that were also not Potter’s. Quite a few of Potter’s things had amassed themselves in his bedroom, and he had paid no attention to them when he had waved his wand and sent his school things into his case before going to the school gates and Apparating out.

_Throw them all away. You should burn them._

His heart sank as he realized that Potter would probably want nothing to do with him when he went back to Hogwarts after the holiday ended. He had stormed off without any explanation and would probably not send one for the rest of break. When he saw Potter again, he would be distant. Potter’s innocence does not need to be sullied by himself.

_That’s for the better. My shame and filth shall not be yours._

He got up. Tea and walking around a bit would help. He left his room and proceeded to make his way to the kitchens. Had it only been this afternoon that he was curled up with Potter in the Gryffindor common room, Potter in his arms, safe in his warmth and the soft kisses Potter trailed down his neck?

“Fuck!” he swore, hitting the wall with a closed fist and sinking down to the middle of the cold floor, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sob like a child.

A silvery Patronus in the form of a stag suddenly appeared in front of him, riding a wave of shiny gray mist. He blinked once, thinking he was hallucinating. That was _Potter’s_ Patronus. What the bloody, ever-lasting _fuck?_

“Look, Draco,” the stag said, and Draco nearly had a heart attack right there and then. It was Potter’s voice, speaking through the stag, and he sounded so tired and hurt and sad and Draco so desperately wished it was actually Potter there so he could hold Potter and comfort him and…

_You’re not supposed to fucking go near him anymore. You’re tainted, and he should not be near you._

A choked sob escaped his throat as the stag went on. “I have no clue what happened earlier, but I’m really sorry for saying what I said. I realize this is all new and something else, and I’m just so sorry. I hope that you’re doing well wherever you are, and I look forward to seeing you whenever you come back, hopefully soon. I wish you were here. I miss you so much, Draco. Well…I’ll see you around, I guess. Yours, Harry.”

_Yours…_

The stag made to leave, its delivered message over, but Draco lunged for it, his hands grasping at the silvery white air. “Wait! Can’t you…can’t you take a message back?”

The stag cocked its head, bemused, before taking a few leaps away and dissolving into darkness. Draco found himself even more torn in half, wanting so desperately to Apparate back to Hogwarts and to the safety of Potter, but he knew that he would be dead before he even arrived at the gates. Aunt Bella had made it very clear that night that she had no qualms about murdering _anyone_ that stood in her path. Leaving would make Draco one of those in _anyone._ He smiled grimly as he thought about leaving just to spite her, he would welcome death with open arms now that he had no one left to live for.

_Yours, Harry…_

The thought sprang unbidden to mind, and he fought the urge to cry again. In that moment, he realized that Potter was probably the greatest fucking thing that ever happened to him. Draco finally found someone who fancied him, who fancied _him_ despite all his flaws and his past mistakes. Potter liked him not for his wealth, or for his status, or for his bloody usefulness. Potter liked him simply for who he was.

_Harry Potter fancied Draco Malfoy._

Once he knew exactly what Draco Malfoy was doing, he would have no part to do with Draco anymore. But then again, who would? Draco would never find someone to _love,_ someone that would love him.

He looked down the hall, imagining Potter appearing in the middle of it with a sudden crack of Apparation. Potter would run to him, snowflakes in his outrageously messy hair, and Draco would hold him tight, vowing to never let go, knowing that he _should_ let go, but what the hell? He’d capture Potter’s lips in his, reveling in the velvety warm softness of them and the fact that these were all _his._

_Yours, Harry…_

_Yes, you are mine, mine, mine…_

All he knew were Potter’s green eyes swimming in front of him, Potter’s hands up his jumper, Potter’s slightly shaky but unrestrained laughter, Potter, Potter, _Potter–_

He stopped, nearly crying out in frustration. What was he doing? He hadn’t even gotten his bloody tea and here he was, dreaming up all sorts of scenarios like a third year. He trudged back to his room, throwing open the blinds to a massive window overlooking the front lawn. The moon shone back glaringly, and he shivered as the chill emanating from the glass hit him.

A lone star shot across the cloudy sky, and he watched it fall behind a copse of trees in the distance. Harry’s words came back to him from their night on the Astronomy tower. _When the stars would fall, something good was going to happen._ They had been drunk on each other’s presence, curling up together, safe in their combined warmth.

As he watched this star fall, he couldn’t help but feel that Potter was wrong. Nothing good could possibly happen – Aunt Bella was on an ascent to continue the Dark Lord’s sadistic ideals, his mother was still in Azkaban when those fucked-up bastards should’ve been in there instead of her, and Potter was and would never be _his,_ no matter what the Gryffindor said.

He crawled under the sheets, ignoring the empty space next to him where Potter usually would be, his arms and legs wrapped around Draco like a protective, much less unpleasant form of Devil’s Snare. The tears finally started to fall for everything he had and was losing.

He had not one thing in this wretched world that he could love freely and openly.


End file.
